Magician's Spell
by Ginger-Bizkit
Summary: Princess Eloryn is hated by her father, her land, and the magicians that her father prosecutes. She finds love, but what is the consequence that both of them must pay?
1. Princess Eloryn

**.:Princess Eloryn:.**

No one is supposed to like magicians. Papa says magicians are the lowest lifeforms in the world, lower than the trolls that live in the marshlands. My brother never told why the magicians are hated in my father's kingdom, for my uncle worships the magic folk with gold and power in the land of Igorance. My father, King Oren of Tirrius, gives few such power, and many others he has burned for treason. But I think I know.

As King, my father always needed an heir. He married the youngest daughter of the king of Igorance, who bore him eight children. Out those eight, only three survived infancy. Two of those survived into adolescence. They were Prince Harte and Princess Eloryn – me. I was the last child of my parents'. The Queen died, passing life onto me. My lady's maid always said how my father would boast of my mother's beauty, and pray every night for the birth of a daughter as beautiful as her that he could use in a political marriage, to bring more power and wealth to our land. He got his wish in the end, but at the expense of his wife's own life. Her life for mine – and the magician who had assisted my mother in labour got the blame.

I do not know what happened to him. The man tried all he could to save the Queen but it didn't help. The Queen died, the magician was arrested, and he his heart was cut from his chest – the only way to kill a magician.

For a princess, you must think my life is charmed. Perfume, parties, suitors is probably part of my daily life, I hear you think. But my life is not charmed: I am hated by my father. He hates me. If I wasn't his daughter, the King would probably have me executed for the Queen's death. _That's _how much he hates me. The royal court shares that hate, save for my thirteen-year older brother, Prince Harte.

Worse than that, the magicians hate me. They see me as the girl whose birth started the chain reaction that led to thousands of magicians being attacked in streets, banned from taverns and, worse of all, magicians are being killed because of me. And the guilt I feel is ruining my life.

I remember screaming at my father that I was sorry for my life, I was sorry for being a disappointment, and I was sorry for not being as beautiful as my mother! He did not comfort me, as I thought he would. Instead he said, in his gruff way: "Not as sorry as I am, Eloryn."

When I heard him say that, I wanted to end it all. My life, my guilt, my father's misery. Most of all, my father might see my death as my one triumph. Burying me might enable him to final love the child in death, who he hated so much during her life.

I was only six at the time.

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	2. Father's Announcement

**.:Father's Announcement:.**

The winter of that year saw a violent and bloody uprising amongst the dwarves in the southern part of Tirrius. My father sent the King's Own to 'settle' the unrest, which no doubt saw the deaths of many a dwarf king from the various clans, though I was not permitted to hear the report given by the Commander of the King's Own once the soldiers returned from their quest. I was not permitted to listen to such disturbing talks of battles and was instead ordered to take breakfast with the Queen in her chambers, before I left for my daily lessons in tapestry, dancing, music, and the little magic my father would permit his children to learn.

I sat before the Queen, only half listening to her talk as she tried to fill me in on court's latest gossip. A dragon egg had been discovered by Lord Girnal on his estate some weeks before; an visiting ambassador from the elves was to be arriving in a few days time to organise yet another peace treaty; the mer-people were up in arms about the fishing route that had been set up through their water; and...

My stepmother stopped talking, taking in my distant gaze. She set down her cup and touched my hands lightly, startling out of my thoughts. "Eloryn, you look pale. Pray tell what troubles you?"

I tried to smile, bowing my head humbly. "Forgive me, Catheryn. I was miles away."

The Queen smiled warmly. In the books in the nursery, stepmothers are always portrayed as fearsome, mean, ugly people who force their stepchildren to cook and clean for them against their will, but that was not so with my father's second wife. Catheryn seemed to be more like a proper parent to me than my own father was, and she certainly tried to make up as best as she could for my father's iciness towards me. I was lucky in that respects, for I truly _was _Catheryn's blood – Father had married my mother's older sister shortly after my eighth birthday. Apart from being my Queen and stepmother, Queen Catheryn was also my aunt.

"I feel so bad for you that your eighteenth birthday has been overshadowed by this terrible business with the dwarf clans," the Queen said seriously, as a servant brought in another tray of toasted buns and sweet jam. "I am glad, at least, that my brother from Igorance has insisted to come here to Tirrius for the banquet in your honour."

I nodded, pretending to look excited. _If the king of Tirrius hadn't said he would come for the celebrations, there wouldn't be a banquet being held anyway. _

"When does my uncle arrive?" I queried. "Igorance is a two day journey away by ship, and a six day ride."

"He'll be here in three days, Eloryn." Before she could say anything else the door flew opened and my father walked in, followed by a dazed-looking servant. Catheryn and I leapt to our feet, curtsying to the King as he glanced at us. His eyes narrowed as he saw me. "My lord! This is a surprise," the Queen said, walking towards Father. "How was the report?"

"Terrible," the King answered in his gruff growl of a voice. "The loss of our loyal men has been greater than we had first expected. I do not wish Eloryn to hear of such matters – she wouldn't understand them." His voice was hard. "You may leave."

No one angers the King. I curtsied again, hoping to get away as quickly as I could. The King stepped aside to let me pass, eyes narrowed as he watched me head towards the door. Suddenly he reached out and snared my arm, remembering something he had forgotten. His touch was fleeting and he dropped my arm as though it had turned into a snake.

"You are eighteen and it's about time you were wed. I am currently thinking over a marriage proposal from the King of Casarno. You hall meet him at the...banquet. That is all."

I curtsied again. "Thank you, Majesty." And then I was gone.

* * *

"A birthday party!" squealed Millie, as she hurried around my chamber that night. "A birthday party for my baby! And soon my baby will be married!" My lady's maid was more excited about the news than I was. "And to the King of Casarno! I hear he's young and good looking, my child – you'll do good by him."

"Millie, please," I complained in a half giggle, holding up a hands in surrender. "I shall just have to see when I meet him, won't I?"

My lady's maid, who had been caring for me for all of my life, laughed at my obvious embarrassment and excitement. She gathered me in a tight hug, then released me and pointed towards my bed. "Go on, child – off to bed with you."

Maybe it was the excitement of the unknown that made me fall quickly into a peaceful slumber. But a peaceful slumber is not what I usually enjoy, for my dreams are frequent. And I only ever have one dream. I only ever dream of one man.

_I walked quietly along the dirt track, feeling as lost and hopeless as ever. I was in a forest of tall trees, whose barks glistened and shone brighter than the moon at night. These soldiers of white light dazzled me, forcing me to cast my eyes to the ground. It was only then that he came, appearing behind me and laying his hands on my shoulders. I continued to walk, and he was standing right behind me._

"_Will you look at me?" His voice was young yet deep, and sounded like it belonged to one who had seen much pain and suffering through his life. "Will you not tonight look upon my face at last?"_

"_No." _

_The man behind me sighed sadly, hands still on my shoulders. "All these years I hear your voice, yet I never see your face. I wish I could. Why will you not look at me? Why won't you tell me who you are?"_

_The answer was hard in coming."You wouldn't like me if you knew," I whispered. "You would wish you'd never dreamt of me."_

"_Do I scare you?" the man asked, as though I hadn't even spoken._

_That question was more than easy for me to answer. "Yes." _

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	3. Men Of No Hearts

**.:Men Of No Hearts:.**

The weather was cold and icy, turning what little of the rain that had fallen from the sky and onto the roofs of the houses into icicles, hanging down from the wooden roofs like miniature stalactites. Even though the light-men had been out since the sun had begun to set that evening, lighting the streetlamps, and the occupants of the houses had been lighting their candles and fireplaces, the majority of them had shuttered their windows against the streets outside, and the city was mostly in darkness against the blackness of the sky.

Storekeepers had locked up several hours before hand, some travelling back to the warmth of their homes and a plate of good food prepared by the wife, while other chose to retire to the numerous taverns and inns around, down the different streets. Even the beggars were at rest, sleeping the alcoves or down Lyolf-ends and back streets. Homeless dogs, cats and children dozed beside public bins, ignored by the few people still out at this lonely hour. This was the city of Sewel.

In the east of Sewel, in a small one-roomed wooden bungalow, a small boy named was sitting on the reed mat before the burning hearth. The boy was nearly seven, with fine green hair and maroon eyes, sat a played with a small pile of toy bricks under his mother's watchful eye. His father had been asleep in his chair for most of the evening, tired from his watch duty on the walls. The man suddenly woke, for he suddenly leapt to his feet from his chair.

"Umae!" he hissed urgently. He was standing at one of the windows, squinting out into the streets beyond, his voice trembling. "Umae, come here quickly; something is wrong!"

His wife didn't have time to ask exactly what, when suddenly the family heard a low, pounding noise that shook the air around them, vibrating so much that the while house seemed to be shaking. It took the three boys a few seconds to realise that this was the city bell, and if it was ringing at all, that could only mean one thing…

The boy's father threw open the front door suddenly, to reveal a hunched man carrying a lantern, who jumped back as the man raised his fists. "Legan!" he gasped, stepping backwards. "Peace, but be quick!"

"Mrol!" cried the boy's father, surprised. "Forgive me, old friend, but what his going on? I though, with the bell, you were surely an attacker."

"No," the old man answered, "but they shall be here soon, too, and they do not knock or care for children." His eyes fixed on the child, who was whimpering and shrank back towards his mother. "Look, I dare not linger, but the gates are opening and we must all flee. A Dark Knight has arrived at the East Gate with an army of almost six thousand of the Lyolf."

The boy's father eyes opened wide with terror, and behind him, his wife gasped, clutching the child back close to her. The boys shuddered, though they didn't understand what was going on. Who were the Lyolf? And what – though they'd heard the name before – was a Dark Knight?

"One of the Dark Knights? The wall scouts must have got it wrong," their father was saying. "A Prince would never bother about Sewel; we're insignificant to them."

"Well, whatever the reason, they're here," said the old man, glancing over his shoulder as people ran up to doors, hammered on them, spoke to the owners, then ran off, leaving them to gather up those from the household and make for the gates. "And the mayor has ordered the other gates be opened so all that can might try to get out safely. Goodbye, old friend."

The boy's father looked like he was in shock, but he hugged the old man tightly, shaking with fear. Then, before the child knew it, the old man was gone, and his father was running to another chest in one corner of the home, pulling open the lid and throwing various items of clothes over to his family. Suddenly, before they knew what was happening, they were outside in the icy air. Grabbing his wife's hand in one hand, his son's in the other, the man began to run.

The warning bell was still ringing, and there was pandemonium on the streets. People were running everywhere, carrying torches, lanterns, belongings, and screaming children; and his father was speeding up, grabbing his son's hand. The boy didn't complain.

"Keep up!" his father shouted back to him, and the boy, panicking, whimpered and broke into a headlong run in order to keep up with his father.

"Slow down!" he sobbed, stumbling on the uneven cobbles. "Daddy, slow down!"

But his father either couldn't hear or wasn't about to agree to his son's pleas, and the boy's legs were growing tiered and was dragging on the man's hand. He pushed himself to run a little faster, but suddenly there was a scream from high above them, and the warning bell stopped ringing.

Everyone in the street stopped, including the boy, staring up at the big black silhouette, which was the city wall. Then all hell broke loose. "The bell!" the people shouted, and then the screaming started again, people running blindly left from right.

The boy was knocked sideways as people ran into him, and he was sent crashing into the wall of a house, loosing his father's hand. He struggled to his feet, ignoring the fact that his hat had come off, eyes darting left to fight, and his heart froze. His father was nowhere to be seen.

"Daddy!" screamed the little boy, running into the crowd, grabbing at the coats at random men, hoping, praying it to be his father. "Daddy?"

But the men weren't his father, and all pulled themselves free or swatted the little boy away. The boy cowered back, but told himself everything was going to be alright. Any moment now, his father would appear from in the depths of the panic, scoop him up in his arms, and run with him back to where his mother was waiting anxiously for their return, and getting in peoples' way.

But after a few minutes, the boy began to panic: there was no sign of his father anywhere, and he could feel the pulsing terror of the crowd around him. He tried again, grabbing at people of any sex now, but it was hopeless: none were his family.

Suddenly, his father's words echoed in the boy's head. _If you ever get lost out in the city, go to the East Gate, all right? You know where that is, don't you?_

"Yes," whispered the boy, just like he had done all the times his father had asked him this, and it was true.

_Good, so if you're ever lost, go to the East Gate and I shall find you there. Or if not, just talk to one of the Wall Patrols, and they'll take you home._

So, feeling slightly relieved, the boy turned and began to run towards the East Gate. It troubled him that everyone seemed to be running _away _from the gate, but no one stopped him, and that just made the boy calmer. If there were less people near the gate, the easier it would be for his father to find him there.

Even before he reached the East Gate, he knew something was wrong. There were no patrols near or around the wall there, and the streets and houses were completely deserted. The gate was shut tightly, barred and locked, and someone had lit great burning fires around the base of the gates on the inside, as though in a self-defence type way. The boy stopped when he saw this, alarmed, but then he ventured forwards, holding his hand up to shield his face. Then he turned away.

Somewhere outside the city walls, someone laughed manically, and the boy froze. Wall Patrols! That had to be it, and if they were outside, then maybe they'd be able to help him. It didn't occur to him that no one alive could have made a laugh like that, but the boy's head was swimming. If he couldn't get through the main gates, he'd have to use the drains. They were to small for a man to squeeze into, but a boy of his age could; he and his friends used to sneak through the drain and outside the city to explore around the walls, until a patrol saw them and ordered them back inside.

The boy headed for this now, just a few meters away from the burning fire, which smelt strongly of oil and wood. The boy reached the drain quickly, going down on his hands and knees. He peered through the small tunnel and saw the glow of torches from outside. That meant there was defiantly patrols out there, and without a backwards glance, the boy was stretched out on his stomach, dragging himself through by his fingertips, ignoring the stench that accompanied the tunnel, the grim caked onto the inside of the drain. He held his breath and squinted through his eyes. And then he was out in fresh air again, and the boy scrambled down onto the soft yellow sand of the desert, which surrounded Sewel, but he'd misjudged the fall, and fell heavily on his ankle. He whimpered, but pulled himself back up onto his feet, ignoring the flare of pain.

He glanced round, looking for the patrols… And went pale. Instead of the normal human patrols he was used to, the boy as looking across at some unholy army, and suddenly he remembered what that man Mrol had told his father: some person called a Dark Knight had come to the East Gate, accompanied by some things called Lyolfs. The boy hadn't known what a Lyolf was, but now he thought he did, and he sourly wished he'd never left the safety of the crowd. These…things, these Lyolfs were creatures from his darkest nightmares, and the boy was almost sick.

Lyolfs were tall, ugly beasts, nearly seven feet tall, with warped bodies. Bodies of mummies – the dead type – all parchment coloured and dry, their ribs sticking out starkly underneath their dehydrated skin. They had skeletal feet, more like claws than anything else, and hands of some unknown beast, with nails of about six centimetres long. A rattlesnake's tail – in perfect proportion to the bodies – hung down from the beats' lower back, each with its own perfectly formed rattle at the end.

For a moment, the boy could not properly see what these things had for heads, but then he did. The Lyolfs had heads that strongly resembled a cat's head; sandy coloured, but with a thick mane of fiery reds, yellows and oranges, and when one opened its mouth to scent the air, the boy caught sight of huge, monstrous teeth inside of its jaws. These were the Lyolfs, scary, inhuman beasts that haunted children's dreams. And they were here now, outside of Sewel, six thousand of them. Waiting for something. And the boy was in their sights.

With a whimper, the boy turned and flung himself back up inside the drain, but he suddenly was being lifted high up in the air, and he screamed, lashing out wildly. The Dark Knight laughed, amused, but he did not release the back of the boy's collar.

"What do we have here?" he hissed, turning his wrist so that he could stare the boy dead in the eyes. "Why, it's a little escapee. How extraordinary."

The boy stopped struggling immediately, frozen by the burning evil in the Dark Night's eyes behind the mask of burning bronze. But his own eyes were filled with tears of anger and hate, and suddenly he found mobility, and he lashed out again. The Knight only laughed and held him at arm's length. Then he whispered a spell under his breath, looking at the now furiously struggling boy in his grasp. There was a flash of light and suddenly the boy was still. The Dark Knight dropped him to the ground, then turned to his army.

"Enough of this nonsense!" he roared at them, indicating the city. "It's time to show our dear King what we Dark Knights can really do! KILL THEM ALL!"

With a deafening roar, the Lyolfs surged forwards towards the city gates before them. The Dark Knight watched them enter, eyes darkened yet contented beneath the mask – the symbol of his cult. This was good – the King of Igorance was away at his neice's birthday celebrations in the Tirrius land, and was a long ride away from his own land at this time. Now was the perfect time to display the Knight's power. But this wasn't their main goal.

"And after Sewel," the Dark Knight said coldly, ignoring the terrified screams from within the city walls, "we go for the _real _test. We shall awaken the dragon, and we shall give her an offering – of _royal _blood! Princess Eloryn, you're future awaits thee!"

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_Yay! Another pyscho villan to ruin every story! PLEASE READ AND REVIEW! Thanks to **Pirate** and **martini the brave **- the support was welcomed! Llamas, Ginger-Bizkit. _


	4. A Birthday Surprise

_Thank's to Martini the Brave for the help! Gotta go cos I have more coursework to do...NOOOOO! Enjoy!_

**.:A Birthday Surprise:.**

"Father's having the Huntsman take us hunting today in the Royal forest," one of the littlest Princes announced boastfully at the breakfast table, smiling gleefully. "I bet we'll catch a deer!"

One of the Princesses looked unimpressed by our brother's talk. "Well _I _think you'll fall of your horse at the first sign of a chase. _You _couldn't ride in a straight line, not even if your life depended on it."

"I can too!"

"Please!" Nanny shouted angrily, glaring around at the younger children with disdain. "Nobility does not enter into such childish arguments at the breakfast table, do you understand?" She glanced at me as the little ones returned to their food once more and muttered, "Honestly, you'd think they'd been raised in a barn sometimes."

I smiled and coughed back a laugh. My half siblings were all unruly, disobedient misfits who would much rather spend the day chasing each other around the palace gardens than learn how to dance or wield a sword. I wasn't permitted to say so, but I had to agree with Nanny's remark.

"The children of the King? Raise in a barn, I hear you say?" I gasped outright and twisted round in my seat to face the open door to the nursery. The man in the doorway smiled broadly. "Then I've come to the right place!"

"Harte!" I leapt from my seat with joyful cry at the sight of my older brother, rushing to the doorway into my brother's embrace. The Crown Prince boomed with laughter as we hugged each other tightly, ignoring the excited chattering from the little princes and princesses at the table. "Harte, thank the gods you're safe! How long have you been here for?"

"Oh, a couple of hours," my older brother replied casually. At thirty-one years of age, Prince Harte was tall and bearded, every inch his father's son. From the severe-looking face, cool grey eyes and squared shoulders, Harte was the spitting image of the King, yet he was still able to bear the company of his little sister when he managed to get away from Court and his own family. "Calm down, Elle, you look worried!"

"You've just come back from a war!" I cried, so relieved to see him safe that I had to hug him once more. "You should have sent me a messenger to tell me you were all right."

"I had...other matters to attend to first," Harte said, then winked at me knowingly. "My wife was happy to have me back, shall we say?" Then he pinched my cheek fondly. "But enough about me, Elle, it's your birthday tomorrow, and the banquette tonight. It would appear as though you are now my not-so-little sister any more. Are you excited?"

I nodded eagerly and motioned to the hallway. "Do you wish to remain here or can we talk?"

"Let's talk," Harte replied, taking my arm and pulling me out of the nursery. "You shouldn't be taking breakfast with the bloomin' born-in-a-barn parade. I hear father wishes for a marriage between yourself and the King of Casarno, is that correct?"

"Yes."

"And have you ever met him before?"

I hesitated as we walked, frowning slightly. "I have _heard _of him, but I have not met him face to face. He fought the dark sorcerers from the Western lands out of Casarno, when they were sent by the witch queen, Heldrida, who had planned to overthrow him during his first year as king."

"That's correct," Harte replied heavily. "But I'm not sure why Father wants this marriage with Casarno – they rely heavily on their magical powers. The King of Casarno himself is a Sorcerer of the Eight level, one of the highest ranks in the world." The hair on the back of my neck tingled as he spoke those words. "He will be at the banquette as well, hoping to meet with you. I would suggest thinking carefully before excepting such a marriage."

I looked up at met Harte's eyes. They were serious and frowning. "Pray tell me, would Father allow me to reject such a suitor?" The Crown Prince was forced to look away. "I thought as much. But tell me, Harte: how went the war with the dwarves?"

My brother's face suddenly paled in the gloom of the hallway, the eerie blue light of the stained glass making him look sickly and drawn. "If you have heard anything of noble battles and triumph beyond our wildest dreams, forget them. The uprising was strong, Eloryn; stronger than it has been in over a thousand years. I've never _seen _so many of the dwarf kings so united together for one cause, and we...we couldn't let it continue. It couldn't be tolerated, or else jeopardise both our father's and my future rules. It was hideous, bloody. The enemy knew how to fight, and their will was like that of the iron they forge! But we had to win in the end – it was inevitable. Our armies are too fearsome, our might too great. Their shall be no retaliation, at least not in our lifetime."

"Your Highness?" a voice called from up ahead, making us start and look up. A young man was hurrying down the hall towards us, sword bumping gently against his thigh.. The young man smiled, then he then turned to my brother. "Highness, forgive the abrupt interruption but your King and your uncle, My Lord of Igorance, wish to speak with you in the King's office."

"And you would be?" Prince Harte asked quietly.

The man bowed at once. "A thousand apologies. I am one of King Rychard's personal secretaries."

He pulled an identification card from the pocket of his flannel shirt and handed it to my brother, who glanced at it then nodded. "All right. Forgive me, sister, but it seems as though I really must hasten to our father's call."

"Don't hasten too fast," I joked, as Harte let go of my arm and made to follow the secretary. "We don't want you straining yourself."

Harte turned and pulled back a face in response, looking all of eleven years old. I laughed and waved, before turning back round to face the hall.

* * *

The banquette was a fine chance for my father to allow his decorators to transform the Great Hall of the palace from its usual antique glory into something even the elven visitors had to confess was astounding. For the first time in many years, all attention seemed to be on my – I felt sick with nerves. I stood at the side of the King, Queen, Crown Prince and his family, greeting the guests with all the Royal gratitude and politeness expected of me. When my uncle, the King of Igorance, stepped forwards to greet me, I smiled and curtsied to him. He took my hands, face proud.

"I still cannot quite believe that my little sister's daughter is almost a grown woman," King Rychard told me quietly. "You are so much like her, Eloryn."

I didn't know quite what to say, for I could only take his word for it. "Forgive me, Sire, but I have never seen a picture of my mother. But I am sure that you are right in your words."

Rychard smiled. "Of course I am. If you ever need help, Eloryn, you know where my kingdom lies. Seek me, for I shall not turn you away."

"Your Majesty is too kind," I replied, then grinned as he walked away to rejoin some minister or other. My smile wavered and threatened to disappear as a burly young man, dressed in the robes of a sorcerer, stepped forwards towards the thrones to pay his respects. I knew exactly who he was from the moment I saw him, for how many sorcerers were permitted to wear the crown of a king? It was the sorcerer-King from Casarno.

"King Bacall," my father said in his gruff tone, "it is an honour to have you amongst us tonight."

"I am always pleased to be invited to the palace of my Tirriusan cousins," the King of Casarno replied graciously. "I have travelled many days to be here today, and your hospitality had been warmly received."

Father nodded, then glanced at me. "King Bacall, may I introduce to you my daughter, Princess Eloryn? I trust our agreement still stands?"

The King of Casarno turned and bowed to me, and I allowed him to take my hand in his own to kiss it gently. "My lady, it is an honour to finally meet you at last. Your Majesty, if your daughter would permit our agreement, I would sign the certificates of holy matrimony right now. The rumours do not lie – her beauty is truly great!"

"You flatter me, Majesty," I cut in quickly, seeing the pain of the long-lost years flash across my father's face. "I thank you for your words, and I hope that the banquette does not disappoint you."

Bacall's lips twitched upwards briefly. "I would only be disappointed if you were to deny me the honour of a dance?"

Father was giving me one of his looks I could tell, so I nodded against my will as Bacall released my hand, fingertips stroking the skin and making me shudder. His hands were as cold as ice. "Then I must not displease. Until our dance?"

"Until our dance," Bacall agreed, then bowed once more and left, leaving me to rub my hands to warm the skin his own hand had touched. Harte moved to stand at my side.

"What did you think of him, sister?"

"His hands are like the skin of a snake."

Harte smiled grimly. "His hands aren't the only thing as cold as a snake. His personality seems warm and friendly, but believe me when I say that that is only an act. I hear he is quite the little back-stabber when the mood takes him."

"Does Father know this information?"

"Probably. But I suppose he would marry you to a camel trader if he could, so long as it removed you from our homeland." His words stung, making me stiffen and bite my lip. Harte cursed under his breath. "Forgive my words, but I only speak the truth to you. I only ever have done."

"I know." That was what had hurt me so much. "Thank you, Harte."

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw my uncle's secretary slip into the Great Hall. I watched his movements through the crowd as he made his way towards my uncle, face serious and slightly...what? Frightened? Something bad had happened, I could see. My uncle spotted him and made his excuses to the judge he had been speaking to so that he could see what his secretary needed. A hushed conversation later and Uncle Rychard had turned as pale as his secretary.

"I wonder what is wrong," I commented quietly, smiling graciously as a noblewoman curtsied to me. Harte was also watching Uncle Rychard. "He looks worried."

"A report from Igorance reached us this morning by messenger hawk," Harte replied grimly, barely moving his mouth. "The city of Sewel has been attacked by the Dark Knights from the North of Igorance. Our uncle was awaiting the number of people killed, but... He must finally know the number."

Music sounded as the musicians struck up at the front of the hall, and Harte sighed and shook his head. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw King Bacall heading towards us through the crowd. I sighed, looking at Harte, who raised an eyebrow at him. It was time for my first dance with King Bacall.

"Princess, this is a great honour you do me," Bacall said humbly, leading me down towards the dance floor. His hand on my arm was clammy and heavy, yet I bared it due to Father's eyes watching our every movement. "And just think, such dances at this may become frequent events if you go on to do me the honour of becoming my wife."

I smiled thinly, bracing myself as we turned to face each other. I curtsied. He bowed. His arm snaked around my waist. "My lord, I would be honoured, I am sure."

And then we began to dance.

* * *

The wind was cool against my skin as I slipped out of the great Hall and into gardens beyond. A breeze lifted, catching at the fine silk of my dress and making the skirts whisper along the ground as I walked out onto the balcony, away from the dancers and the well-wishers, most of all hid darkened looks behind painted smiles. But I wasn't just hiding from them, nor from Bacall – who had insisted I danced with no one but he. I was hiding from my father and his burning words.

As I had seated myself on an empty seat at the back of the room, I had heard the King boastfully talking to one of the elfin guests. He had sounded drunk, his words slurred, and yet he was still able to string together a sentence that burned at my soul and made me wish once more that I could die.

"Eighteen-years-old," Father had been saying loudly. "Eighteen-years-old, and _still_ a virgin! Even our Prince Harte had caught the love of a serving girl by that age!"

I couldn't bare to be in the hall any longer, and so I had fled out here onto the balcony to join the other guests who had tried to escape the heat within the palace. They smiled as I exited the hall, but otherwise they stayed well away from me, as though I held some deadly curse upon my skin that they dared not catch. Why couldn't this blasted party be over and done with? This was a political shindig – _I _was only a pawn in the middle of it to be toyed with. And humiliated. I hated my father for his words to those strangers, but I knew there was nothing I could do about it.

A servant appeared behind me with a tray laden with glasses of shimmering champagne. I saw him bow out of the corner of my eye and picked up a drink from the trey. "Would my lady like a drink?"

"No thank you," I replied quietly, voice wavering. "I'm not very thirsty."

The servant sighed deeply and settled the drink back down on the trey once more, his crystal blue eyes humble. "You look pale, my lady. Is the party not to your pleasing?"

"Oh, it is a wonderful. I just... Never mind."

"Are you sure a little champagne won't help ease the stress of dancing, my lady?" Again the glass was offered to me, and this time I couldn't help myself and took the glass from the man. I drank deeply, suddenly parched. "There, see? I told you that a drink would make you feel better."

I handed the glass back and cast my eyes across towards the city bellow us. The capital sparkled and shone, the glittering lights from the houses captivating me again. The whole of the capital was stretched out before us and seemed to burn with fire. And then everything blurred, the whole world spinning violently.

"My lady, are you all right?" the servant asked anxiously, as I stumbled, only just managing to catch myself on the balcony railings. He snared another passing serving man and pushed the trey into his hands. "My lady, you do look awfully pale. Here, let me take you back to your room."

"No!" I gasped, shaking my head, yet still the servant pulled my arm around his neck to try and steady me. "I can manage, I'm just..." My head spun again and I groan, nearly losing my footing. Still the servant was walking, leading me down the stone steps into the palace grounds – but why? "Where...are we...going?"

"Keep walking." His tone was sharper now, harsh and cruel. It turned my blood to ice, but as I tried to pull away I felt my balancing betraying me, and I feel heavily against him. "Get up!"

I couldn't. On the border of consciousness I heard the servant – or _was _it a servant? - curse angrily and swept me up into his arms. I was limp, as light as a rag doll in his arms, and I could not even scream out for help. I was falling asleep. Sleep would be welcoming. And then the shadowy world of the palace gardens turned black.

* * *

_I don't know how long I slept until I began to dream once more. I walked quietly along the dirt track, feeling as lost and hopeless as ever. I was in the forest of tall trees, whose barks glistened and shone brighter than the moon at night. These soldiers of white light dazzled me, forcing me to cast my eyes to the ground. It was only then that he came, appearing behind me and laying his hands on my shoulders. I continued to walk, and he was standing right behind me. He was floating along just inches from the ground, something that had always scared me, but tonight I was not afraid. I couldn't have felt more relieved to feel his familiar presence behind me if my life had depended on me._

"_Are you crying?" he asked quietly. "What is wrong?"_

"_I'm in trouble - terrible trouble." _

_The man behind me stiffened slightly, hands clenching on my shoulders. "What? What has happened to you? Where are you?"_

"_I don't know." I was so afraid that I felt my steps slowing. "I've been...I think I've been abducted."_

_The urgency in his head was plain. "Let me help you. I...I am a magician. I can help you, if you let me--"_

"_No!" I cried. "What if my kidnapper is stronger than you?"_

"_You think he's a magician?"_

"_I... Yes, I think so."_

_I heard the man click his tongue on the roof of his mouth as he thought, then heard him cough uneasily. "I have some important business to attend to at the moment, but as soon as I can spare the time I _will _dream of you again. I want to help you, all right? If only to see your face at last."_

And then I woke, and thought for a moment that I had died. Darkness consumed everything around me, darkness coiling around me, reaching out to suck me into it. I shrank back away from it, terrified, only to feel an icy wall against my back. My hands, I realised, had been chained above my head with invisible iron. Magic, I realised – so my abductor _was _of magical origin. I wanted to scream out loud, to hopefully attract the attention of someone nearby who could help me. But I didn't get the chance. Far above my head there was the creak of floorboards, and the deep coughing of a man. There was a harsh squeaking noise, a grating of chains, and then a crack of light blinded me from up ahead.

Someone was entering my prison, and I doubted that they would be friendly.


	5. Realising Dreams

**.:Realising Dreams:.**

I winced as sunlight burned my eyes from the gap in the gaping trap door, making me hiss out in pain. The man descending the steps paused as he heard my voice, then snorted with laughter and flung the door wide open, inflicting more scorching light onto my smarting eyes. There was the barking of dogs somewhere high above our heads, and the sounds of running water further away in the distance. A river, I realised, and then my throat began to scream in protest, alerting me to the fact that I was parched. It felt as though my lips had not tasted water in more than two days.

"Well." I looked up as my abductor spoke, fearing the rough edge to his voice...and my heart froze with terror. I could not see the man's face at all, for he covered it with a large bronze mask which burned like fire in the sunlight from the room above. He wore simple black leggings with knee-high boots, a flannel shirt and a waistcoat of shimmering purple silk.

I knew exactly what, if not who, he was: He was one of the Dark Knights my brother had spoken of, the ones who had slaughtered so many in the city of Sewel. The terror in my eyes must have hinted at this knowledge, for the man merely laughed again and cocked his head to one side.

"Hello, Princess. Remember me?"

Black curls tumbled from his head and around his mask, cut long yet tied back so as not to hide his formidable mask. He stepped forwards to me and knelt, bringing his face close up to mine so that I could see the shocking crystal blue colouring of his eyes. I felt my stomach rise into my throat – the servant who had given me my drink!

"How did the likes of you get into the castle?" I asked, sickened.

The man straightened and stepped back, folding arms across his broad chest as he stared down at me. "How did the likes of _you _get to rule from such a fine home in the first place? There are thousands out there in your daddy and uncle's lands who live with scarcely anything, make barely enough to feed themselves, and _still _they must pay the Kings' taxes!"

I flinched back against the wall as the Dark Knight raised his voice at me. He sounded furious, as though Ipersonally had ordered the raise in taxes. I know that many were not happy about father's newer, higher demands, but who was I to try and complain to the King?

I shivered and bit my trembling lip. "Is that why have you brought me here? To try and negotiate a reduction in taxes---"

My words had scarcely left my mouth when the Dark Knight suddenly roared with laughter once more. Anger welled in me momentarily, and I was once again standing before my father and having every little thing I uttered thrown back in my face with cruel mocking. I soon remembered, though, that this was a man who did not live by the rules. This was a man who was part of the smallest yet strongest Black Magic cult in history. This man would take my life if he wanted.

There was the hiss of metal, a flash of bright light, and suddenly the Dark Knight's blade kissed my neck with deadly grace. "Don't play stupid with me, Princess. I shan't fall for the Royals' sweet smiles and poisoned lies, like the rest of your stupid people! I follow no King, I pay him none of my money, and I shall never let him tell me how to live my life. Or what magic I can and can't practise." Ever through the eye holes of his mask, the Dark Knight's eyes were filled with contempt and disgust. "And I _certainly _won't let myself fall for the powerless promises from King Oren of Tirrius' most hated daughter! Do you realise how much _pain_, how much damn _terror _you've put me and my people through? Do you! Ever since you were born, magicians everywhere have lived in fear of their non-magical cousins, who now seem to think us inferior to them! If your father thinks that he can push us into a corner and forget about us, that he can kill us all in one swell swoop, he needs to wake up and face reality!"

I swallowed nervously, feeling the sword's tip press momentarily closer to my skin. I forced myself to look up and meet the Dark Knight's gaze. "So this is what you want me for? Revenge?"

"Maybe," the Dark Knight replied. He glanced at the sword and then, to my great relief, brought it away from my neck and sheathed it once more. "I've followed my orders so far and completed my mission. Now I need only to wait and listen for my next orders – concerning _you_,anyway. The leader of the Dark Knight has plans for you, Princess, but I'm still low in the ranks of power." As though remembering himself, the Dark Knight cursed fluently in a tongue I had not heard before, then glared at me again. "You'll be in my care for now, at any rate. Be good, and I'll feed you. Try and escape, and you'll face a fate far worse than death." He flexed his fingers, allowing small balls of magic to blossom at his fingertips. "I'm may be low in the ranks, but I can work a torture spell well enough. Heed my words, Princess."

Without another word, the Dark Knight turned and left. He left me in that cellar – my prison – underneath a house in a location I could not guess even if I _could _recall the maps learnt by heart from my geography lessons when I had been a child. I was too frightened by his words to remember anything, and soon I found myself lost in the darkness of my lonely prison without a soul in the world for comfort.

Time moved past me, leaving me dazed. Finally, I lost what little sense of time I had left. The Dark Knight left me with no water, no light, and no one to talk to. I sat there on the icy, hard floor, losing myself from time to time in memories. I had always been the outcast in the family – only Cathryn and Harte spoke to me like I was a normal human being. Father, as though fearful I would bring some curse upon his children, had never allowed me within two rooms of my half-siblings until they had successfully lived through their first two months on the earth. I hated that. My half-siblings had had their heads filled with superstitious nonsense about me having killed my mother. I hated that more than words could explain. But, oh, what I wouldn't give to be back in the palace with my mean family – I even realised I missed Father, for all his cruel glares and harsh words.

Dogs began barking eagerly suddenly, and I distantly heard the Dark Knight's voice calling them. For food, I guessed, for the dogs were all howling gleefully and loudly, kicking up a hell of a fuss. My stomach growled in response – gods, I felt so hungry! I found myself wondering where my father and brother were now. I tried hard not to think about what they would eat. Had they noticed I was missing yet? Harte? Maybe. Father? He probably wouldn't care. Truth be told, the only people who would worry about my abduction would be the Queen, the Crown Prince, my uncle, and...King Bacall. Well, I supposed he would, anyway – he hadn't been able to shut up about the intended marriage the previous evening. Or had it been the previous evening?

My chance came when the trap door squeaked again in protest, and the bronzed-masked man entered the cellar once more. A man of his word, the Dark Knight held a tray of food in his hands. He said nothing to me, and I waited patiently until he had settled the tray down besides me before I risked asking him my question – I didn't want him walking away with my meal!

"Do you know how long I've been here?" I asked politely.

The Dark Knight frowned as he looked up, crystal blue eyes flashing as he met my gaze. "Think someone'll come after you? I doubt it!"

I took a calming breath and waited until he had finished sniggering before I tried to ask my question again. "Please, I just want to know how long I've been here."

The Knight sighed and made an irritated noise between his teeth. "Women! Fine, it's been three days since your little party. Your brother, Prince Harte, he's had patrols searching high and low for you. Your uncle practically ordered the whole countryside be torn up in desperation for your safe return, but your father couldn't give a rat's arse. But there's no point getting your hopes up, Princess – they'll never find you here."

"A remote area?"

"Cloaked by magic," the Dark Knight replied boastfully. I could tell from his tone that he'd placed the spell himself. "_And _it's nigh on impossible to hear through, so you can save that pretty voice of yours if you're thinking about screaming for attention." He pushed the tray towards me, and then cursed again. "Bloody handcuffs! Forget I ain't supposed to untie you. I'll have to feed you myself." He didn't sound particularly thrilled be the thought.

"Oh, no you won't!" I cried, before I realised what I'd said. The Dark Knight looked at me and I shivered – meeting someone's eyes when they wear a mask of bronze is one of the most unnatural things in the world. "I'm not a child, sir. I can feed myself."

"So I take it you'll be eating with your feet?" The Dark Knight grinned behind the mask, and it was only then that I realised how young his voice sounded. "Look, either let me feed you this or go without. It's your choice – _Princess_." He spat the last word, making me remember he was a Dark Knight.

I lifted my head. No man would make a fool out of me! "I will not be fed like some child!"

The man merely shrugged and stood, taking the plate with him. "Suit yourself, but I did warn you."

"Wait!" I cried, alarmed, but the Dark Knight shook his head as he left.

"Nope, you've made your decision. We magicians learn that once a decision is made, it's almost impossible to take back or avoid the consequences. I think it's time you learnt that yourself."

Seconds later, the trap door slammed shut with a bang. Feeling helpless and overwhelmed by my inner terror, I let out a small sob of regret, and then began to cry.

* * *

Father used to scold me when I cried. Little girls should be allowed to cry when they fall and hurt their knees, or if they have a nightmare that shakes them out of their dreams in terror. But Father would never permit it – crying is a sign of weakness. I showed my weakness for almost an hour. I was aware of footsteps near the trap door from time to time while I tried to muffle the sound of my tears in my arms. The Dark Knight was hovering near the door to my prison, listening to my misery. I could just imagine the triumphant smirk in his crystal blue eyes, and the proud grin across his hidden face. It made me cry harder. Of course it was my fault, of course it was! I had been stupid and rude...and now I was paying for it. I was learning to hate my abductor the hard way.

_I fell asleep. I walked through the forest, knowing that I had finally cried myself into dreams, but this time I was utterly alone. Even through my dreams, the stranger had deserted me. Oh, how I wished for his safe presence. I did not have to wait long. I heard a man's deep breathing behind me, and then his hands settled on my shoulders. _

"_Are you still trapped?" _

"_Yes," I whispered. _

_The young man cursed. "Damn it! I hoped you would have managed to escape; to have lost your abductor. I was hoping I wouldn't _have _to come to your rescue, though now it looks like I'll have to."_

_His words angered me. "You were hoping? I don't know you, you don't know me – if you don't want to help me then don't bother." Again I saw the potential in a mess up of my own making. "Everyone else has deserted me."_

"_You don't know that," the man objected lightly. He pulled me to a stop. "_I _haven't abandoned you."_

"_I don't see you running to my rescue," I pointed out sternly._

_He chuckled grimly. "You don't see me, full stop. Let me see you? Please? I want to know who I'm looking for when I can get away from my business."_

_I tensed, not wanting to show my face. If this man really _was _a magician, if he saw my face and recognised who I was – Eloryn, responsible for magician hatred everywhere – he may just side with the Dark Knight and decide to leave me in my cell to rot._

_But still he felt like the only person I could trust._

_Against my better judgement, I turned to face him. He was taller than I, about six foot if he was an inch. I looked up, looking momentarily into a face as pale as paper. It was a handsome face, young with bold features, and a mass of coal black curls tumbled down towards his shoulders. I did not get time enough to get a clear imprint of his face in my mind, for he suddenly gasped, eyes opening wide with horror – crystal blue eyes. He stumbled backwards, falling away from me as fast as he could. _

"_You? No, it can't be!" He spoke a word, the dream flickered…_

…And I woke suddenly in the cold dark prison. There was a loud bang from upstairs, the sound of feet scrambling up once more, and suddenly the trap door was swung open. The Dark Knight came crashing down the stairs, only just starting to pull the bronze mask over his face. He froze on the steps, meeting my eyes, mask motionless over his forehead. We stared at one another in horror for what seemed like an age, the minutes merging into each other as prisoner stared at her captor, and captor stared at his prisoner.

Finally he coughed his voice unusually high with nerves. "You…_you're _the girl in my dreams?"

I could scarcely believe it either. "Yes. And you're a..." I felt sick just speaking the name. "You're a Dark Knight?"

"Yes." A spasm of excitement flashed momentarily across his face, his eyes studying my face eagerly. He removed the mask altogether, though his face suddenly became as hard as rock. "And you're still my prisoner. And you're still the reason my people are being prosecuted."

I hung my head, turning my face from him. "I told you that you wouldn't like me if you knew my real identity. I did warn you."

The Dark Knight crossed over to me and knelt, blue eyes wide with excitement despite the stern line of his mouth. "Do you possess the Gift?"

"The Gift?"

"Magic."

I bit my lip and nodded. "Only just. A little. I can light a candle, but not much more."

"And I wouldn't have dreamt of you on purpose," the Dark Knight said thoughtfully. He worried his bottom lip thoughtfully, forehead creasing slightly. "Then... How have you entered my dreams?"

"I haven't!" I persisted quickly, desperate not to somehow anger or offend him. "I swear, I have no idea how I entered your dreams. I...I didn't even know it was possible."

The Dark Knight nodded slightly. "I suppose you wouldn't, if I think about it. So it must have been me, but...how? Why? You're my enemy."

He sat down heavily besides me, staring dumbly at the bronze mask in his hands. I nodded towards it, though I doubt he saw. "That mask goes against everything my family stand for. We tolerate good magic, not your type."

"We rebel against you because your family prosecutes _all _magicians – the good and the bad." The venom in his voice died away, and he returned his crystal blue eyes to the mask once more. "Coincidence does not exist – everything happens for a reason."

"I don't understand," I confessed dismally.

The Dark Knight looked at me once more, suddenly looking more like the young man he should have been, and not a deadly enemy that had taken me from my home. "I mean that we've been dreaming of one another for a reason. Neither of us intended for it to happen, so our Gifts... I don't know."

"I'm still confused."

The Dark Knight shook his head and cast his eyes up to the ceiling. "Gods save us. If my fellow Knights find out about this, they will say I'm fraternizing with the enemy. They'd kill us both for sure."

I really did not like the sound of that. "Then what are we to do?"

"Figure our why our dreams made us meet, I suppose," the young man replied, then closed his eyes and began to think.

* * *

_**Pirate – **Thank you for reviewing! I'm glad you want to find out what happens next! _

_**Matakia – **Hope this chapter lived up to the hanger of cliffs! Thank you!_

_**Oo.dream.on.girl.oO – **Thank you! Hope this wasn't boring! _

_**martini the brave – **Hehe! Now you know! _

_Everyone else, hope you enjoyed! Llamas, Ginger-Bizkit!_


	6. Terms And Conditions Apply

**.:Terms And Conditions Apply:.**

The Dark Knight thought on the matter of why our dreams had lead us to one another for hours, sitting besides me in my cellar prison. He did not speak, lost in his own troubled thoughts. Exhaustion finally took me, and when I woke the Dark Knight had gone. This time, though, he did not leave me in darkness, for I was surprised to see a small orb radiating light from the middle of cellar, hovering off the ground. For the first time ever I really saw my prison, but there was nothing there save for the grim stone walls and rat droppings. Other than that, there were just the stairs and me.

The Dark Knight left me alone for two days, though I often heard him dithering around near the trap door, or arguing furiously with himself. I went hungry. Sometimes I tried to call him, begging for him to bring me the smallest morsel of food, or even a meagre sip of drink. Every time, though, the Dark Knight kept silent and refused to listen to my pleas. Once he grew angry and stomped one boot down hard on the trap door, shaking dust down between the floorboards. It worked though, for I chose to remain silent despite the growling of my stomach. What was worse, when I slept I still dreamt of the forest, but he was never there. He was avoiding me. And I felt so guilty. I felt as though I was suffocating in my loneliness. Now my tears seemed so insignificant that my eyes grew hard and refused to shed even a single drop of my inner sorrow.

* * *

King Oren of Tirrius was looking bored. He sat besides his son and stared out across at the pale-faced guards that had just returned from searching the land for any sign of his daughter. He listened their hesitant, humble report of their three-day hunt, but there was still no sign of Princess Eloryn. There had been confusion after the party, for Eloryn had not appeared to bid her guests farewell. Some had commented that they had seen her talking to one of the palace servants, and the initial thought was that she had finally decided to ask a man back to her room, much to King Bacall's obvious irritation. But that thought had been ruined after a servant was sent to knock on Elroyn's door and she did not answer. On further inspection, neither the Princess nor the servant was to be found. The search the followed saw all the palace being turned inside out, and the next day all of the servants were questioned. When the description of the servant that had been seen talking to Eloryn had been read out to them, none of the servants recognised the man. The was when the royal family realised that Eloryn had been kidnapped.

King Oren sighed and shook his head as the guards made another feverish apology for their failure to locate his daughter. What was the point in worrying over spilt milk? If Eloryn was gone, she was gone, King Oren thought. If Carsona was still interested in a marriage, he had another daughter. But she was still just a child.

The Crown Prince cursed under his breath and was about to argue with the guards, wanting to tell them that no, it was _not _all right – his little sister was lost and could be in grave danger at that very second! But then something happened. The hall fell silent as a man entered the room. His robes will simple, bland in comparison to the finery worn by the King and his fellows, but that was not what made all of the men stiffen in their seats, mouth becoming thin lines of distaste. The man wore the broach of a messenger and another of a magician, pinned to his breast.

"Sire," he said, and bowed awkwardly to King Oren. The man's mouth flickered into a snarl, but he nodded, signalling for the man to speak his words and be gone. Already, the King was looking pale and sickly so close to the magic sorcerer. "Sire, I bring you news of the utmost importance. Your brother-in-law, the King of Igorance, has received a message from the Dark Knights of his country, and it...it would seem as though _they _are the ones that have abducted your daughter. They have given him a message, and I have been told that I must show you." From his coat, the magician drew out a tiny purple rock, and ran a finger of its smooth surface. "If I may?"

"Please," Harte spoke up, before his father could snap at the man to be gone. "If you will be so kind as to relieve us all from our worry."

The magician sighed sadly. "I regret, then, that this will do no such thing." And with that he spoke a command and the purple rock began to glow.

"Great gods above!" gasped someone, as the magician dropped the rock to the ground and stepped back as a line of twenty-odd men suddenly appeared before the King and the Crown Prince. They were faded, the image blurred slightly, but the image was not so blurred that the court could not recognise the formidable bronze masks of the Dark Knights at the men's faces.

To the court's horror, one of the men began to speak. It was hard to tell who the voice belonged to, but it seemed that the person was speaking from behind all of the Dark Knights' masks. "My _gracious _King, greetings. We know that you have searched for many days for the Princess Eloryn, but to no avail. Let us now take away the need for your pointless searching and tell you that _we _have the Princess in our hands. She is our prisoner, and there are terms that you and your brother-in-law, the King of Tirrius, must agree to if you are to ever see her alive again.

"King Rychard, you must end the alliance with the King of Herhas and instead form one with witch Queen Heldrida. You must stop the taxes on the magicians in the Lower Lands, and give back a tenth of the land you stole from the desert trolls. King Oren, you must stop your foolish prosecution of our people. If you do not, you will not have the death of your daughter on your conscious, but also that of many thousands of your people. If our terms are not met within a week of the next full moon, the Princess _will _be killed. Our blessings."

And with that, the image flickered and was gone. The next day, the unfortunate messenger had his heart cut from his body by the royal executioner.

* * *

I kept my eyes lowered to the floor as I allowed the Dark Knight to gently spoon another mouthful of the stew into my mouth. I heard him sigh as I swallowed the food, feeling as though there was a great ball of emotion lodged in my throat that wasn't allowing me to eat properly. He hesitantly placed his hand onto my shoulder.

"I know you don't like this, Eloryn, but you have to understand that I can't just have you wandering around," he told me quietly. It had been three days since the Dark Knight had decided to start talking to me, and three days since I allowed myself to be fed like a little child. "Don't hate me."

"I don't hate you," I confessed sadly. "I just think you're a fool for allowing someone to boss you around."

"The Dark Knights _don't _boss me around," he replied with a shrug. He stirred the stew absently as he sat, then helped himself to a spoonful. "Your father bosses people around all the time, including yourself. Does that make you a fool?"

"My father, my father," I muttered angrily. "Why does _everything _with you boil down to my father? If you are so intent in asking these ridiculous questions about my father, why didn't you abduct _him _instead?"

I heard the young man chuckle at my words. "You were the easiest to get to. You've also get a better sense of right and wrong."

"How do you know?"

"It's one of the things I'm good at: judging how much good and bad there is in a person."

That made me look at him. "Everyone has good and bad in them. It all depends on which side the person chooses to listen to."

His blue eyes flashed as he smiled. "You're also wiser than your father." I opened my mouth to speak, but he already seemed to know what I was about to say. "And not all of the Dark Knights are warped by evil."

"So that means there are some who are powered mainly by evil?" I wanted to know, but it drew only another grim smile. The Dark Knight no longer wore his mask around me any more.

"There are a couple in the Dark Knights, just as there are a couple in the royal household. I sensed them while I was "working" there."

He raised the spoon to my lips again and grinned as I pulled a face. I obediently took the food that was offered, knowing from previous experiences that he would leave me hungry if I let my pride get the better of me. I had learnt more about consequences here in the cellar than I had in my eighteen years in the palace, and I was surprisingly grateful for them.

"Will you tell me your name?" I asked him as he began to stir the stew again. He paused and looked up at me, eyes searching my face with concern, as though trying to sense some foul play. "I know your face well enough now that I may as well know your name."

"Here marks my downfall," the Dark Knight sighed dramatically, then nodded. "All right. My name is Myron of Ēnastral, previously from Greian." I hesitated, for Ēnastral was a province in King Bacall's kingdom of Casarno, and it was not famed for the politeness or loyalty of its people. But Greian was in my father's kingdom! "Ah. I see you know the names."

"I do," I confessed. "Myron. That's a nice name."

"Thanks," the Dark Knight – no, Myron – answered. "My mother thought so too." Pain flashed momentarily across his face; the pain of an horrific memory. Myron shook his head, face becoming as stone. I decided to change the subject.

"Has there been any news as to whether the my uncle and father have agreed to the Dark Knights' terms?"

This seemed to make Myron angry again, for he scowled and cursed bitterly. "Yes. Your uncle is not at all pleased, but he has granted the Dark Knights' wishes, all save forming a new alliance with Queen Heldrida. Your father..." Myron spat on the floor. "He would rather kiss an ogre than agree to the terms, it would seem. I hope he does agree, and soon. It's nearly the week before the full moon."

My blood turned to ice. I knew what he meant, but I was too afraid to allow my mind the luxury of turning a blind eye. "You mean that the Dark Knights will have me killed?"

"I don't know," Myron answered, then offered me another mouthful of stew. He must have seen from the look on my face that I felt suddenly too sickened to eat it, and instead he got to his feet and made towards the staircase. At the top he paused, half turning to me. He looked saddened and his crystal blue eyes were full of regret. "There...there are fates worse than death when magic is concerned," he told me shamefully.

The magic holding my arms loosened. My arms slumped into my lap. I looked up at him and smiled. "Thank you, Myron."

Myron nodded in reply, then he turned and vanished into his own living quarters above.

_**

* * *

**_

_**Pirate – **Issue are all good! Yeh, I do have a lot of explaining, and believe me I am thinking!! -_

_**Matakia – **Thank you for reviewing! I'm glad you're enjoying it!_

_**martini the brave – **You know, I'm really not a romantic type! This is kinda out of character for me, but I am trying!_

_**Mrs. Gallagher –** Thank you for the reviews! I hope this chapter wasn't too bad!_

_Everyone else, hope you enjoyed too! Llamas, Ginger-Bizkit!_


	7. Visitors In Masks

**.:Visitors In Masks:.**

I was sitting on the floor one morning, lost in my own thoughts as usual, when the globes of light suddenly vanished, plunging my world into darkness. Almost at the same time, an invisible force gripped my arms and dragged them up above my head, as though I were still chained to the wall. My immediate surprise gave way to anger – why was Myron doing this to me?

Before I could open my mouth to call Myron, I heard something. Myron's voice, high above me in his living quarters. Was he with another woman? No, why would he have bothered to tie me back up again, unless he intended to try and impress her by showing her his royal hostage. Then I heard the other men. My blood froze within my veins, throat suddenly very dry. I didn't have to see them to know who they were; Myron's actions had warned me of their presence.

Myron was not the only Dark Knight in the building now.

Suddenly, the trapdoor was flung open. Five men in black travelling cloaks swept down the flight of stairs and into the cellar, each as silent as the next. One of them signalled and light exploded overhead, making me cry out in terror. Bronze burned all around me, from the faces of each of the five men. It hurt to look at their faces directly, but I could no longer tell which of the Dark Knights was Myron. I bit my lip as I scanned the faces – those hideous, identical faces – hoping to catch the smallest hint of Myron's crystal blue eyes behind the eye sockets. But they stood too far away from me to see properly. I wanted to call out – wanted to know that Myron had not left me alone with this unholy men – but I forced myself to stay silent: Myron would not thank me if his fellow Dark Knights were to discover who close our relationship was becoming, even after such a short period of time. With no one else to talk to, Myron more often than not came down in the daytime to talk with me, and I was grateful for his company. The previous night he had fallen asleep besides me, head resting against my shoulder. I didn't mind, yet I was scared: I was scared of the closeness. I had heard stories of what captors did to their captives, and it filled me with dread. I didn't want to lose my trust in Myron. I didn't want him to hurt me like that. But I couldn't give any hint of this trust or this fear to the Dark Knights.

One of the stepped forwards, muttering a spell. Invisible hands grabbed my arms, dragging me to my feet so that the Dark Knight could see into my face without the need to bend. His eyes flashed darkly as he watched me grimace with the pain of stiffened limbs. "We won't bow down to you, Princess," he growled. "Stop complaining and look at me!"

I forced myself to look into his cold, heartless eyes. I began to trembled with terror once more. The Dark Knight took my face in one hand, scanning for tell-tell signs of sickness in my eyes or skin. What he saw seemed to please him, for he released my face and turned to the line of watchers.

"She is not ill," he informed them gravely. "And she looks well fed and watered, considering what she has been through. Congratulations, brother. It would seem as though you have kept your word after all."

One of the men – Myron – bowed lowly in thanks. "My lord, I live to serve the ways of the Dark Knights. I hope I can continue to be of service here."

"Indeed you can," the leader replied calmly, then muttered something under his breath. The hands roughly forced me to sit once more. "You shall be contacted in the next few days on the, eh..._progression _of the situation. Now, if you do not mind, I believe food is required for us?"

Myron bowed and indicated the trap door. The Dark Knights filed up the stairs in silence, their footsteps heavy and resounding. Minutes later I heard the Dark Knights' voices talking and laughing merrily, just like any group of friends would at a social gathering. The smell of roasting meat turned my mouth to water, and after that the sounds of wooden mugs clunking together heralded the start of what would surely be a hearty drink of ale. Myron did not relight the cellar. The voices upstairs quietened to a hushed whisper, and I swallowed nervously in the darkness. Whatever the men were talking about now, it would surely be of darker matters than the usual polite conversation one usually hears at the dinner table.

I felt even more vulnerable than ever.

* * *

I awoke to the glimmering light of the globes above me heads, and knew the Dark Knights were gone. Well, Myron was not gone, for I met his crystal blue eyes across the cellar floor. He was sitting on the steps, a tray of food in his hands. Watching me. Just...watching me. I was surprised to see him, and pushed myself up onto my knees.

"Hello," I said, smiling uneasily; I didn't like that unbroken stare. "How...how long have you been here? Are you all right?"

Myron smiled thinly, eyes darkened into slits. His footsteps echoed heavily on the hard cold steps as he walked down into the cellar, still holding the tray of food in his hands. I glanced at its contents and felt sickened: a type of stew and tough-looking bread lay besides a wooden mug that had been crudely made. I watched him approached, suddenly filled with apprehension. He looked incredibly angry.

"Myron?" I asked quietly. "What's wrong?"

He did not answer at first. Instead he placed the tray down next to me, glared at me once more, then slammed his fists into the wall close to my head. I remained still, afraid of him. What had I done – if anything – to provoke this anger? "You know _exactly _what's wrong."

"No," I replied evenly. I took a great will to keep my voice from betraying my fear. "Myron, what has happened?"

"The King of Casarno, _that's _what's happened!" thundered the Dark Knight, standing up again and pacing. "He's released a statement that he is going to be sending fifteen of his own Eighth level magicians across to search for you, and that he personally shall be leading the party. _And _he's referring to you as his betrothed." He spat the words out with such venom that I felt physically sick.

"Myron, please!" I begged, struggling to my feet quickly as his pacing grew more violent. I tried to grab his arm, but he shrugged me off with one vicious jerk, his hand nearly hitting my face. "Myron, listen to me! I did not agree to such a union!"

"But you wouldn't have to, would you?" Myron snarled back. "Your damn father would have agreed on your behalf! Why did you not just send him away when you had the chance? We have _spies _in his palace in Casarno, Eloryn! He is nothing but a filthy, lying womaniser! Half the maids at court and on his staff have seen the royal bedroom, and _you'd _be just another worthless name to add to his list!"

I didn't want to hear his words, for they made me feel dirty. Myron was acting as though I'd already laid with the man! "Stop it! He's after me, not the other way around!"

"He'd just get you with child," Myron ranted on, oblivious to my pleading words, "then he'd just go woo some foolish serving lady into his bed! Bacall isn't worth his weight in gold! Or silver! Or even shit!"

"Myron, for the love of the gods, stop shouting so!" I pleaded, watching as his face grow redder and redder with fury. "Myron, just sit down and calm yourself. Can we just _talk _about this for a--"

The Dark Knight rounded on me. The next thing I knew, his hands had seized me by the waist and pulled me hard into his arms, but before I could gasp or cry out, Myron's lips were pressed up hard against my own. I stayed motionless in his arms, feeling his lips moving, trying to coax open my mouth. My head spun as I felt his tongue move across my own, the sweet taste of his lips making me want to give in to him. But I refused to let him have his way, and instead pulled back my head and glared at him. There was embarrassment written on his face for a second, which soon gave way to frustration and anger.

"So you _do _want him," Myron hissed, then pushed me away from him. He wiped his mouth and spat on the floor with such force that the cellar sung its echoes. "You'd prefer to be bedded by a filthy king, rather than by an outlawed magician."

"You're a Dark Knight, Myron," I whispered, barely able to speak. Why was _I _feeling embarrassed? Why was I feeling so...guilty? "We _can't_. If I do get out of here, and Bacall and my father still insist on a marriage, what would happen if they ever found out? We'd both be slain."

"Not I," Myron replied darkly. "Bacall's only an Eighth level magician – I'm a Ninth. No one in the Dark Knights is allowed to join unless they are of the Eight level minimum." I shivered as his eyes roamed down my body, following every curve with lusting eyes. Finally he looked up and met my gaze. "You deserve better than him. If it's living, he'll fuck it; if it's dead, he'll eat it."

"I have to do better than you," I whispered, hating my words. Contempt replaced the lust in Myron's eyes. "I'm sorry, but it had to be said! My father _hates _magicians!"

"And you?"

I hesitated, feeling cornered. I couldn't confess my true feelings. Could I? "I fear them. You know that one killed my mother."

"No!" Myron shouted, pointing furiously at me. "That magician did _not _kill your mother! That would be murder, and your father's magician was trying to save her life, not end it purposefully! Damn it, Eloryn! Sometimes a healer has to look to the life of the baby, not just the life of the mother! If the magician let your mother go, it was only because she was too weak to be saved! You weren't!"

I stood there, shocked by his words. No one had ever fed my _that _side of the story before, I usually just heard of the jealous magician who sought to end the royal line once and for all! Could Myron's word be true?

"How can...you be sure?" I whispered.

Myron shrugged. "My mother was a healer. She used her witchcraft to help women in childbirth, and sometimes she had to let the mother die in order to give the baby the best chance of surviving. She let the wife of the lord we served on go for that specific reason – to save his first-born male heir. And she was killed for it. The lord wrote to your father, your father wrote back..."

Pain flashed across Myron's face, and he turned and punched furiously at the wall. I tried to step forwards to him, wanting to comfort him, but he spat some words out and my feet froze where they were. "Myron?"

"Do you want to know what they did with her?" Myron snarled, but he didn't give me time to answer. "They dragged her from our house, stripped her of her clothes. I had to watch the lord's guards rape her again and again besides the village well – the villagers _forced _me and my brother to watch. Those filth merely watched and laughed. When the guards were done with my mother, they cut out her heart. Then they threw my brother and I out of our house, and allowed the villagers to chase us from the village and into the forest. My brother was thirteen. I was just three _days_ off my eighth birthday." Myron let out a hollow chuckle. "What a _fine _present I had that year!"

Horror turned my blood to ice. My father had _permitted _such atrocities? I could scarcely believe my ears. "Myron, I'm..."

"Sorry?" he snapped back, then stepped up to me and back-handed me across the face. I couldn't hold back my tears any longer, but they were not for me. "So you should be."

He muttered a word and gave me back movement of my feet. I immediately turned and fled from him, too ashamed of myself to look into his beautiful eyes any longer. Myron merely turned and stormed back up the stairs. The trap door slammed above my head. The magical orbs flickered, growing dim around me, before my world was once again plunged into vengeful darkness, leaving me with much more to think about than my uncertain future.

* * *

_**Pirate – **Thank you! Hope you're enjoying!_

_**martini the brave – **Again, cheers! See, I updated now! _)

_**Mrs. Gallagher –** Glad you liked the last chapter – hope this one weren't too bad!_

_Everyone else, hope you enjoyed too! Llamas, Ginger-Bizkit!_


	8. A Hostess Of Fire And Teeth

**.:A Hostess Of Fire And Teeth:.**

I presumed that I was dreaming. Someone was carrying up the flight of stairs from the cellar, while chanting voices pressed on me from every side. I panicked through the haze of half-consciousness: what was happenings to me? When I forced my eyes opened, all I could see was a wall of bronze faces staring at me, gloved hands held palm-first towards me.

"Dark Lord, grant us the speed and invisibility to right the wrongs of a nation today," a gravelly voice by my ear whispered in prayer, before it reverted back to the swift, chilling words of a foreign chant. A spell?

Terror gripped me. Forcing myself to wake up once and for all, I squirmed in my captor's arms, nearly falling to the ground. Another of the Dark Knights leapt forwards, shoving me back into the man's arms with one powerful movement. As he did so, he brought his mask close up to my ear so that the cold bronze burned at my cheek.

"Stop it!" Myron's voice hissed at me. "Fighting will get you nowhere!"

I gasped, horrified. Trying to block out the hideous chanting, I turned my head and met crystal blue eyes behind the eye sockets of his mask. His eyes were unreadable! Despite everything else going on around me, I felt tears start in my own eyes; _how _could Myron just abandon me like this? For a crazy second I was back in the cellar just a night before, and the night before that, surrendering myself to Myron's desperate kisses, seeing the tenderness and maddening lust in his eyes, but now that look had disappeared. Was it because each time I had pushed him away before he'd got too carried away? That sort of closeness terrified me! And what if Myron gave me one of those hurtful names, and told me that his passion was a cruel joke to get a night or two of pleasure out of me? But for all of my fears, I still hoped that he wasn't fooling with my heart – I wasn't fooling with his, and that made me even more reluctant to have it broken in such a cruel way.

Myron held a hand out over my body, and my muscles became rigid under flesh. He straightened and looked at the man carrying me, saying something in the same, twisted tongue his fellow Dark Knights were chanting in. The man grunted in response, and a silver bottle suddenly appeared out of the thin air besides Myron with a sharp _pop_, making me flinch. I stared at Myron one last time, giving him a pleading look, but he scarcely seem to register it.

"Why?" I suddenly shouted at him, glad that the muscles in my face and neck were still mobile. "Why are you––"

Myron stepped forwards with a billow of robes and raised his hand. An invisible hand smacked my cheek viciously, sending my head spinning. My cheek seemed to scream with pain, yet all I felt was pure and indescribably anger. Before Myron could do anything else, I'd spat forcefully onto his mask, unable to keep the sudden despise from my voice as I hissed at him. "You twisted son of a bitch!"

"Leave her!" the man carried me ordered sharply, as Myron took another threatening step forwards. "You know Rhianna only takes unspoilt, _unhurt _maidens; do not jeopardise our task to satisfy your own childish pride! Unless, of course, you have something you want to confess...?"

Myron's back bristled with obvious anger at the Dark Knight's words. "I am not a fool, brother! You said you wanted her still a virgin, so that's what you've got!"

I wondered for a moment what the reaction all round would be if I opened my mouth right there and then, and accused Myron personally of nearly ruining that part of the Dark Knight's order. I decided against it – whatever my fate was going to be, it had to be better than Myron clubbing my to death with magic. And, if I was lucky, my father's mage-hunters would track him down later in life and kill him.

The man behind me snorted, hardly sounding amused. "You've bewitched women into doing what you want before, little brother, so you're more than capable of doing so again." My stomach clenched in fear – _what _had he just said Myron had done? "You'd better hope Rhianna takes her or, my blood or nay, the King's guards won't be able to find even a hair of your being!"

I could tell from the way Myron's body tensed that the man meant his words. For some reason it didn't seem to surprise me that much that Myron's occupation was also a family affair, and I could also tell that Myron had a sudden urge to punch the man who had called him his 'little brother'. Instead he seized the bottle from the air, and pulled my head back so that I was staring at the ceiling. As he forced the neck of the bottle into my mouth, I heard one of the Dark Knights stop chanting to comment, "You do know the bottle will force her to drink _without_ human interference?"

"With what I've had to go through since bringing her here?" Myron snarled back, his grip on my head so tight that I would have screamed if it had not been for the disgusting liquid that was flooding my mouth. I tried to spit it out, hoping it might hit Myron as I did, but I was unable to. I could only gulp down mouthful after mouthful, like some poor child starved of water to the point of insanity. "I want to drug her myself!"

The man holding me cursed under his breath. "Damn your stupid pride! When this is finished, I'm going to personally beat it back into that goldfish brain of yours that under no circumstance can you let yourself think more important than the rest of us! Now, get out of this house and go about your business! Send the message to her father and await for me to contact you!"

The bottle was pulled from my mouth. I groaned as my head suddenly began to spin dangerously, my stomach threatening to bring up its contents as the world dimmed dangerously. Myron's mask blazed with fire. To my numb surprise, Myron suddenly roared. Besides myself, I started to laugh. Myron had never roared before, but he certainly made a very good beast impression, for it hardly sounded like him. Myron roared again. I stopped laughing and looked about, biting back a groan as my head spun lazily in protest.

"Myron?"

I was no longer in the house whose cellar I had called my prison. I was standing outside in what looked like an old, overgrown crater. The stench of burning flesh and plant hung heavily in the air, as though the crater was used to such occurrences, and the floor of the crater was covered in a fine white dust that whipped up nose as the wind caught it and threw it mockingly into my face. But that was not what made my stomach turn so violent, or cause my knees to buckle: something roared high above my head. Against the howling protest of my inner common sense, I looked up, seeing for the first time the snow-capped peaks of mountains towering high above me. And there, draped along the rim of the basin like the palace cats basking in the sun that spilled out into the window ledges, lay a hideous green beast.

I swallowed hard, mouth turning dry in terror. Had it seen me? No, that was a stupid question: the beast met my wide-eyed stare with vicious red eyes. Then it unfolded humongous wings, like those of a gigantic bat, and glided down into the crater with a grace that put even the finest of my father's pet swans to shame. Despite its flawless landing, the crater grumbled and shock violently, and a billow of the white powder surged towards me like a tidal wave of battered crystals. More of the dratted stuff went up my nose, making me sneeze uncontrollably for several minutes. I tried to stop myself, unable to stop the tears that rolled down my cheeks as I heard and felt the dragon sauntering lazily forwards towards me. Like a rabbit being cornered by a smug cat, I tried to turn and run, but to my horror found that I had been chained to a sacrificial post directly in the dragon's path.

Scorching air billowed up against my, which I knew would have had me on my knees and hurtling to a crashing stop against the back of crater had it not been for my chains. My sneezing fit stopped. A growl that shook me to the very core erupted from two very dilated, intimately close nostrils, and I could only scream in horror as the dragon brought its face close up to me, as though trying to decide whether or not I would make a suitable meal. It snapped its teeth in irritation of what it saw, the sound deafening me, yet its words I heard not in my ears but inside my very skull!

_What folly! My Dark Kittens bring me my promised meal, only for me to find that it would scarcely make a meagre snack! _The red eyes glinted mockingly. _I was expecting more from you, Princess Eloryn. _

I wasn't an idiot. I knew I was standing just inches away from an incredibly painful death that could involve teeth or flame, and yet I found myself thinking grimly to myself, _Oh, great! I'm a disappointment to my father, the memory of my mother, my brother and my land, and now I'm the disappointing meal of a dragon! _

The dragon growled in response. _Such a whiny little madame! Dear me, child, did no one ever tell you dragons can read minds? Have you never heard of the great Lady Rhianna, Mistress of All the Skies? No? Your loss, Highness – I'm surprised Darling Daddy didn't terrify you with tales of my wisdom and deeds when you were a suckling! Lucky for you, my dear, I like to entertain my guests before dinner, so to speak! _The dragon nuzzled my face for a moment and inhaled gently. _A virgin, I see. A good upbringing. Too much self-pity for her own good, but humans change. Sorry to say, you aren't going to have a chance to, which is a shame: you'd have made a good ruler of humans, given half a chance, if you could only put those damn fears behind you! _

"Why would you care, begging your pardon?" I asked humbly,voice wavering and cracking.

_I'm a nice, caring individual, as far as dragons go_, Rhianna replied with a toss of her brilliant emerald head. _The Beauty of the Dragon Realms! Do you not think I am beautiful?_

"Yes," I replied automatically, but my thoughts betrayed me. _Not to mention vain_.

The dragon's eyes glinted. _Thank you, Highness! A compliment indeed! I'd have been careful with such a venomous tongue, though, if I had been you: some people may have been quite insulted by your words. Some men find it...oh, what's that word? Enticing? I can almost understand why Myron wanted to take you as his mate, and I can _certainly _understand why you were considering him! _

"I was _not _considering taking Myron as my mate!" I shouted indignantly, then stopped myself. The dragon gave a look that told me she knew I was lying, and I hung my head, ashamed. "He was pleasure seeker; he wasn't genuine."

The dragon roared in what could only be described as laughter. _If what your saying about his not being genuine is true, then the gold in my layer is as worthless as dung! Honestly, dear, stop pitying yourself! There are plenty of women who have ended up in my layer after trying to attract Myron's affections, some of whom have had love robbed from them, as have you. They differ from you because they go hunting through every man that passes them by – including Myron – in order to believe, if only for one night, that the man loving them likes more than just their bodies. You...you seem to avoid every man that passes as though he's got the plague! _

"One of the Dark Knights said you only take unspoilt maids." My eyes narrowed. "How do I know you're not lying?"

The dragon flapped her wings half-heartedly and said, _You've been sneezing what's left of their bones out of your nose for the past few minutes. _She growled at the horror on my face. _And the child turns as green as I! As for the Dark Knight who said _those _foolish words, that must have been Elan, the leader of my Dark Kittens, fool that he is! _To my surprise, the dragon winked. _Between you and me, Princess, he still thinks every woman waits for her wedding night before allowing a man under her shift! Woe to any daughter _he _has! I have a close connection to the Dark Kitten, Eloryn; come to visit me quite regularly – you should have heard him the first time Myron took a woman into his--_

"Please!" I cried, wishing I could clamp my hands over my ears. "Enough, I beg of you!"

_Oh? Don't like the fact Myron's bedded before? Well, you should have let him bed you before you wound up here, shouldn't you? _

"I don't want to hear anything more about that selfish, good-for-nothing, traitorous, cad!" I screamed, crying once more.

Rhianna's back straightened, her glinting eyes growing cold. _No one speaks of my little Myron in such a way_, she told me, so quietly it was almost a threat. _No one. I'm tired of entertaining you now – all this talk has made me hungry. _

"Then eat me," I whispered. "I don't _care_ any more!"

_It's what I intended to do_, the dragon replied, then lowered her head once more. Her scolding breath scorched my face once more, forcing my eyes shut.

Light flared brightly around the inside of the crater. The dragon let out a roar that sent my ears and bones howling. I screwed my eyes together even more tightly, holding my breath as I waited for the burning flames and razor sharp teeth to envelop me.

What happened next would have made me throw any self respecting book straight onto the fire with a tut of annoyance. How convenient! Who would have guessed the chapter would have ended like that? But when your tied to a post and about to embrace death, scenarios are the last things racing through your mind! If I read what happened then in any book but this one nowadays, apart from being very surprised at the similarity, I would hug the book close to my heart and thank the gods for knights in shinning armour. True, mine was not in full armour, or riding a gallant white steed, but the relief that swept through me was a thousand times more real than any I had ever felt for the unfortunate maidens in my stories at home.

There was another sharp burst of light, a shout of alarm from the crater's rim, and suddenly the dragon swung round to face the man half running, half sliding down the crater's steep slope towards us. I lost sight of him behind a mass of glittering green scales, but I could hear his voice so well it was as though he were magnifying his voice a ten times over by magic.

"RHIANNA, STOP!"

The dragon growled and, with a flash of white teeth, lunged forwards and seized my 'saviour' up off the slope and turned, setting him down on his feet in front of me. I gave Myron one swift glance over to check it really was him, glared at him, then looked at the dragon. "What's _he _doing here?"

_Not a question _I _should be answering_, the dragon correcting. _And stop acting like you are not pleased to see him! Most of my meals would be kissing him by now!_

"That's if the knights had been able to kill you beforehand," Myron muttered, then turned to me, eyes scanning my face and body for injury. "Is she hurt?"

_Not yet. _The dragon nudged Myron angrily. _What is your brother going to say when he comes back here and finds I haven't eaten her?_

"Tell him you did," Myron replied absently, holding my gaze. He laid his hands on the chains, breaking them with his magic. Elan never need know."

_Why are you freeing her? _the dragon complained as I slumped, Myron just managing to catch me as I fell. _She called you a 'selfish, good-for-nothing, traitorous'--_

Myron merely shook his head. "I deserved that. Rhianna, we need somewhere to hide, just until I can think of how to get Eloryn away without my brother and fellows realising she got away."

_My Kitten, I can offer you protection in my cave_, Rhianna growled back. I looked at Myron, who nodded to show it really was our only option. _Not even the other Dark Kittens can defeat me – I shall not let them touch you. And _you _had better be good_.

I wasn't sure whether she meant me or Myron. The man merely nodded and allowed Rhianna to lift us both up onto her back, holding me closely to him as we sailed through the air. "Myron, I--"

_Hold on! _Rhianna roared, then lifted herself high up into the air. I gave up trying to speak and clung to Myron for dear life, hoping my stomach wouldn't betray my inner fear of heights.

* * *

**_Pirate - _**Rock on! Thanks for the support! I loved writing this chapter the best so far!

**_martini the brave – _**You have your update now! Hope you have enjoyed! PS: I have a dragon with flames just like the one you said! Gotta love a dragon!

_**windcriesjimi –** _Hehe! He's the type of guy I love to hate!

**_Sam-Sam – _**Thanks for the review! Keep on reading!

**_Oo.dream.on.girl.oO – _**Thanks for the review! Glad you're still liking it!!!

**_Kyra-maRia – _**Thanks for the support! SO glad you like it! If you read all seven chapters at once, I salute you!!!! salutes

**_Lurid Amaranthine - _**I don't fear any Dark Knights! Bring it on, I cry! Squirrels? Now there you've got another matter...

_Everyone else, hope you enjoyed too! Llamas, Ginger-Bizkit!_


	9. The Hunt Begins

**.:The Hunt Begins:.**

That night I fell asleep in dank, smelly cave, amongst glittering jewels, skeletons, a dragon, and a Dark Knight. I woke up the next morning to the thudding of gigantic clawed feet, but I could not see Rhianna for the closeness of Myron's face. He smiled as I stirred and stretched, stroking my cheek absently with his tough fingers. I sighed at the touch, hesitated, then looked up at held his gaze.

"Myron, I'm confused," I admitted, then paused, unsure of how he would respond to my words. He nodded for me to continue. "One minute, you're all sweetness and nice, the next you're treating my worse than vermin, and then you're acting as though I'm your one true sweetheart! You _can't _keep playing me for a fool like this, Myron! I can't take it!"

"Hush!" Myron pleaded, then kissed my forehead gently as I fought back tears. "Eloryn, _please_, I--"

"You've hit me more than once, Myron!" I said angrily, pushing him away. "You drugged me! In front of all those others you treated me like... Gods, why did you overreact like that?"

He was silent for a moment, eyes heavy with regret. "You were going to say something," he said, finally. "I didn't rightly know what or when, I confess, but women _always _say something. If my brother – the man that carried you out of the cellar – if he had even suspected for a second that you and I...how I feel about you, Eloryn, he wouldn't have waited for Rhianna to kill you. At least I can reason with the dragon; _no one _can reason with Elan."

"You wouldn't have let them kill me?"

"Not while I still had breath in my body!" Myron sighed suddenly, face pale as he sat up. "Elan is evil, Eloryn, and he leads the Dark Knights."

_But he cares for his brother_, Rhianna cut in dryly, her eyes settling on us. _And he cares that the Dark Kittens don't fall into the murky depths of history unsung. That is very important to him._

"Women have never really interested him, not unless they can give him money or power," Myron told me gently, then shook his head, shame in his eyes. "I...I felt the same, once. He was my brother – I'd been relying on him since our mother's death! If Elan said the red berries were poisonous, they were! If he said women were nothing but shortcuts into their father's purses, they were! But now I've met you, Eloryn, I know differently!"

My eyes narrowed, back stiffening as I pushed myself up into a sitting position. "I'm the daughter and niece of kings – they have the biggest purses of all."

Myron snorted in response. "We wanted laws changed, lands returned, alliances pulled off. Money never came into the agreement."

"And I can trust you how?"

"By remembering I saved you from Rhianna." The look in Myron's blue eyes told me he was not lying to me, and I bit my lip, hesitant. "Can you put aside your foolish pride and stubbornness? I'm not out to trick you – I want to save you."

"Your brother said you'd bewitched women, and even the dragon said you'd lain with other women," I pointed out. "Is that right?"

Myron dropped his gaze again. "If you're not born into nobility, it's every man for himself. And it's hard to court women when they know you're a Dark Knights, as well you know!"

I laughed besides myself, then reached out and placed my hand on Myron's cheek. "And do they put up as good a fight as I?"

Myron grinned, pulling me into his arms in one swift movement. "By this stage, I've usually resorted to magic. I don't like stubborn women."

"Wouldn't you rather have something more genuine? Real love?" I asked, pulling my mouth back away from Myron's lips. "Surly something taken is not so good as something rightly earned?" I wrapped my arms around Myron's neck, pulling his head closer to mine, kissing him hard, then pulled back and looked at him. "Like that?"

Before I realised what was happening, our lips were dancing together gently, my heart fluttering madly as I heard the tender sound our kisses made. Myron closed his eyes, sighing against my mouth. I suddenly flinched as Myron's tongue entered my mouth, and I gasped outright as his tongue rubbed against mine. Myron pulled his head back to look at me, looking stunned. Then he lowered his mouth to my neck, his breath hot against my skin as he kissed his way down my throat towards the neck of my dress. My heart rate quickened suddenly, holding my breath as Myron suddenly bore down towards the hard floor of the cave with me, his hands pulling at the bodice of my dress, trying to free me, but his fingers were clumsy and tangled themselves in the dirty gold thread. My body was tingling all over, excitement and passion turning my blood to fire within my veins. I tried to raise my hands to undo the buttons of his flannel shirt, but my hands were trembling so much that I could hardly grasp them for more than a second before they slipped between my fingers.

A loud growl shattered our brief buzz of passion. I looked up at Myron, saw his eyes mirrored mine for horror, before he suddenly cried out with alarm, lifted high up into the air by the dragon's powerful jaws. His weight was gone from me, no longer smothering me, but I was still trembling. I forced myself to sit once more, just in time to see the dragon set Myron down on the ground at the other side of her. My eyes wondered over Myron, then I started, surprised, seeing what the pending excitement had caused on his body. Despite the dragon's ominous presence and Myron obvious embarrassment, I started to laugh. Myron turned scarlet.

"Eloryn, that's rather inappropriate!"

_The girl's in shock, lad! _Rhianna growled, as I fought to control my whoops of mirth. W_hat you've put her poor emotions through, just be glad she isn't sitting there, crying! Now, go cool yourself off – you know where the waterfall is._ Myron sighed, glanced at me once, then stalked off towards the dark mouth of a tunnel behind Rhianna. _And you, my pretty, can stop that teasing! It isn't easy for him, you know – Myron's a sensitive little Dark Kitten!_

"I'm sorry!" I gasped, as Rhianna bent her gaping jaws down and pulled my to my feet by the back of my dress. I finally stopped my fit of giggles, shaking my head and feeling horrible. "I didn't mean to laugh at him. Rhianna? Why _do _you call the Dark Knights 'Dark Kittens'?"

The dragon shrugged her gigantic shoulders, green scales glistening. _I am a dragon, Princess, and I do not _like _knights. They slaughter my kind for the fun and glory of it, but there is no fun in death! I call the Dark Knights 'Kittens', because the other word leave a bad taste in my mouth. _Her red eyes observed me coolly. _I have a chest over there by my treasures that's filled with female clothes. They won't be as fine as what you're used to, Princess, but they will do you. You can wait until Myron returns, then you may go use the waterfall to wash in before you change – _not before! _I shan't have my guests stinking my lair out! _

My eyes glinted mischievously. "Are you sure that's the only reason?"

Rhianna raised her head indignantly. _I don't know what you mean. _

"I thought you said I should have let Myron bed me when I had the chance? I believe _that _was it!"

_And you claimed you didn't want him as a mate_, the dragon retorted. _Besides, this is my home. Just because I think you two should mate, doesn't mean I want to watch!_

She turned, heading towards the cave entrance. There, heaped in a pile, were five deer carcasses, freshly caught and glittering with blood. Hoping they weren't our food, I hurried to the chest Rhianna had told me of, and found the promised dresses laid within. It was true that they weren't as fine as the dress I wore, dirty and smelly as it was, but at least they were clean; simply made, nothing fancy. It would be perfect for someone hiding out, as I was. I wondered if my uncle or father had gotten wind of my "death" - not that Papa would care! Uncle Rychard would be mortified, I knew, but I was sure there was a way I could contact him and reassure him that I was still alive and well. I hesitated: would he care that the man who had saved me had been the one to kidnap me to begin with? Or would he be baying for Myron's blood?

"That's pretty," Myron commented, seating himself on the floor next to me, and shaking me out of my thoughts. He nodded to the plain red dress in my hands, then pointed towards the tunnel. "Follow that until you get to the waterfall. You can burn that stinking old gown if you don't want it, but Rhianna won't want it, and you won't get any use out of it – it's ruined beyond repair."

I glanced him over once and smiled. He wore his trousers as before, his "excitement" calmed, but now his shirt lay draped over one shoulder, revealing a torso that had not quite dried to perfection after a hasty shower. The hair of his head was bedraggled, but he looked...fantastic, despite have the appearance of one having been half drowned. His muscles were taugh, strong, like those of any man who fought to keep his life.

"You'd best hurry, before the wind changes and you're stuck staring at me for the rest of your life," he teased, throwing his shirt in my face.

"Oh, I don't think it would be that bad a sentence," I played, but I heard Rhianna approaching us with one of the dead deer in her jaws, and decided I would rather get clean that watch whatever the dragon intended to do with the beast. Giving Myron another brief smile, I got to my feet and headed for the tunnel and the waterfall beyond.

* * *

We hid in Rhianna's cave for three days and nights, keeping our feelings at bay. Myron and Rhianna took it in turns to leave the cave to hunt local animals, and I gradually learnt how to start fires by both hand and magic, both under Myron's irritatingly critical eye. It was as I slept on that third night, lost in a dreamless abyss, that Myron's urgent shaking of my shoulder woke me rudely from my sleep, only to find the cave a darker abyss than my sleep. I immediately felt Myron pres a finger to my mouth and drag me up to my feet, then he started pulling me towards the furthest corner of the cave, where a cave-in many years before had littered the ground with large, visually-obstructive boulders.

"Stay there!" Myron hissed at me, pushing me behind one such boulder. "Whatever happens, _stay there and don't move_!"

Then he vanished into thin air, just as I heard Rhianna let out a low growl of greeting from the darkness beyond. _Ah, Elan! What a pleasant surprise, my Kitten! _

I heard footsteps on the stone underfoot, and my stomach knotted with terror as a dry, stern voice said: "I am looking for my brother, Rhianna. I've seen him hunting round these parts for the last two days; I know you're hiding him. I must speak with him, and quickly!"

The dragon nearly purred. _I shall call him forth, Elan. MYRON! _I clamped my hands over my ears to try and protect my hearing from Rhianna's fearsome roar. _I believe he is washing at the fall. _

My heart leapt as I heard Myron's familiar voice echoing out of the tunnel, his tone unusually unemotional. "Elan? Brother, why are you here? Has something happened? Is there anything I can do?"

I heard Myron's brother grunt in response. "Calm yourself, brother, nothing is wrong – yet. The kings were informed of Princess Eloryn's death and, yesterday evening, King Rychard of Igorance declared war on us, the Dark Knights. He says he will not rest until our hearts lay burning at his feet."

Myron let out a shallow laugh. "The man is a fool, thinking he could defeat us!" I felt myself bristled with anger at his unkind words. "I thought we laid out the terms of the exchange quite clearly – it is the old man's own fault that Eloryn is dead, because he did not follow our commands!"

"He says that he would rather put himself to sword than make an alliance with the witch queen, Heldrida. He also says that _we _are fools for thinking King Oren of Tirrius would ever ease the pressure of his cruel thumb over us sorcerers." Myron's brother sounded less than thrilled as he muttered, "But we have got ourselves into a fight, nonetheless."

My fingers clenched into fists out of fear. My uncle was a kind man, but kings often had to be ruthless to maintain their rule. Rychard was like a hunting dog: he would hunt a man to the ends of the world in order to bring him to justice, and now he had picked up the Dark Knights' scent, including Myron's. I doubted the man would sleepa wink until they were no longer prowling the earth. Yet still my should-be lover's voice was cocky as he tried to reassure his no-good, brutal wretch of a brother. "We have fought kings before Rychard, Elan! You fear too much, and trust us too little. Your men shall not let you down now, brother."

"The King of Carsona has raised his voice of war as well," Elan muttered. "As has Prince Harte. They are thirsty for revenge – we have thrown ourselves into a deadly lion's den."

"A basket full of kittens, more like!" Myron scoffed, and I heard Elan laugh. "Brother, these kittens get too big for their paws: Prince Harte doesn't have a magic bone in his body – an arrow would kill him just as easily as a spell! Pull the rug out from under their feet, and they'll tumbled to the ground! You'll see, Elan: we'll show them who is the fool!"

The leader of the Dark Knights was very quiet for a moment, then he chuckled grimly and clapped Myron on the back. "I am never truly disappointed in my little brother; you don't let me down like the others do. I thought I should tell you, for when I need to call you to my side to face the royals in combat. Now, give your brother a hug before I depart, and I shall contact you soon enough."

"Elan, you're growing sentimental in your old years!" Myron laughed, but he was suddenly cut off as Elan let out a small hiss of surprise, as though Myron had somehow shocked him with some great energy surge. "What is it?"

Rhianna began to growl dangerously, stirring with uncomfortably anger. Elan's voice, when he spoke, was so low and deadly my heart stopped beating within my breast. "I smell woman on you, Myron. _Woman_! What in the name of all Dark Magic have you been playing at?"

"Locals?" Myron sounded confused. "Elan, you trouble yourself, and you grow paranoid – I can see it in your eyes. Get back to your base and get some sleep --"

"SHE ISN'T DEAD!" Elan suddenly roared, and Myron cried out as his brother punched him viciously across the face, knocking him to the ground. "YOU LYING, UNGRATEFUL, UNWORTHY FILTH! YOU TOLD ME SHE WAS DEAD!"

"_Who_?" Myron demanded, fighting back a groan of pain. I heard a grating of blade on sheath as Elan armed himself, and Myron suddenly let out a small choke of alarm. I didn't have to see the scene that lay just beyond my hiding place to know Elan had his blade angled at Myron's throat. "Elan, think rationally, man! If you're talking about Princess Eloryn, you're greatly mistak--"

"I CAN _SMELL _THE LITTLE WHORE ON YOU!"

_Stop this nonsense! _Rhianna snarled, and there was the clang of the Dark Knight's sword falling to the ground as the dragon rounded on the man, forcing him to drop his blade. _Elan, you know I will not let you harm your brother while you are both in my lair! Myron is under my protection here! _

I winced as Elan spat at Myron, his voice a furious scream. "RHIANNA, HE CAN'T BE TRUSTED! THOSE DARK KNIGHTS WHO CAN NO LONGER BE TRUSTED MUST DIE!"

"I'VE DONE NOTHING WRONG!" Myron bellowed back, scrambling to his feet. He ducked another vicious blow. "Elan! Stop, please! Eloryn isn't a threat to us! You can see for yourself from her family's reaction to our demands that she was _never _going to assist us as much as we wanted – Oren hates the girl as it is! Why would he try to save her life?"

_Elan, leave! _Rhianna growled, moving forwards. _I tire of your argument! Be gone!_

"And _you _give your blessing?" the man demanded.

_No. I tolerate – even I can see you Dark Kittens didn't think this plan through._ _Myron is still loyal to your causes, but he---_

"Can start praying that I don't find him once he leaves the protection of your cave," Elan snarled, sounding more like a beast than Rhianna. "I swear, Myron, I'll rip your heart out with my bear hands! You think by getting on the right side of the Princess, you get on the right side of the law? The Kings will _never _let you live! Rapists suffer the same fate as kidnappers!"

"I've not---"

"It's _your _word over theirs! They won't believe the words of a Dark Knights, Myron, and they'll say Eloryn was bewitched! She'll kill you, if the Dark Knights don't find you first! Congratulations, brother – you're an outlawed outlaw!"

There was silence. I remained where I crouched, shaking with terror for Myron, wishing there was something I could do _except _hide! Elan must have left soon after his cruel words, for Myron suddenly appeared behind me, a globe of light materialising out of the air behind his head. His face was pale yet determined, but the shock in his eyes made my stomach turn. I hugged him hard, begging him for forgiveness, but he pushed me away gently.

"This isn't your fault, Eloryn. Look, I need to get you away _now_! Elan's gone, but I know my brother: he'll summon the other Knights and have them surround the cave with magic. They'll let Rhianna alone, but they'll try and starve us into surrender – I've seen it before. I've even played my hand at such a task, and it's not something I want us to suffer through."

"How can we leave without them noticing?" I whispered, unable to keep the fear out of my voice, refusing to let go of Myron.

"I'll spell you back to your home, then send myself somewhere else. _Anywhere _else! I have allies in other countries who won't let Elan get me – powerful people. They'd crush Elan as soon as look at him after this."

I wasn't so sure – Elan seemed the type of person who could brainwash people into giving him what they wanted. "Myron, just...just don't let them get you. Promise?"

He nodded gravely, then kiss me briefly, but breaking our contact before our emotions grew too painful. "Keep safe." Then he laid a hand on my forehead, whispered one word, and suddenly I stood in the middle of the middle of a long, bright room, blinded by the countless reed lights, deafened by the great clamour of voices. I closed my eyes, shielding my face as I fought back tears, feeling as though someone had pulled _my _heart out. Someone was shouting my name, people calling for guards, and suddenly I was being pulled to my feet.

"Eloryn?" It was Harte, his face the picture of terror. He looked like he'd seen a ghost, but he suddenly hugged me tightly to him, broken to tears. "I thought you were dead!"

Blinking in the harsh light, I glanced round, finding myself in the war room of Igorance. Any man who had any influence in the ways of war and battle was present, each of the staring at me as though they could not quite believe what they had seen – I'd obviously just appeared out of thin air, safe and very much alive, as they were discussing how to avenge my death. Rychard was there as well, and so was King Bacall. My uncle rested a hand on my head, eyes dancing with tears. "Gods bless!"

"Are you hurt?" Harte demanded suddenly, releasing me so that he could look me in the face. "Did they hurt you, Eloryn? You can tell me, and I kill the filth that did---"

"Don't!" I begged, sickened. I shook my head, trembling. "Harte, you can't go after them! They'll kill you! And one of them...he _helped _me! He went against orders, saved my life, and now his fellows are trying to kill him! Please, you have to find him and protect him before you go after the others! _Please!_"

There was a horrified silence, disbelief and uncertainty flashing over the faces of the men. King Bacall snorted, sighing almost sadly. "The child's been brainwashed."

"No!"

"And she's hysterical," the man continued calmly. "Gods only know what they put her through, poor child! She needs to sleep, restore her mind, or else we'll never get a sensible word out of her again!"

"No! Harte, you _have _to believe me, one of the Knights saved my life!"

But Bacall was already muttering a spell, his eyes deadly calm yet flashing with something I couldn't place. It was only as my body gave way to a healing sleep that I realised what it was, though I could scarcely believe it: Bacall was _jealous!_

* * *

**_Pirate - _**Another confusing chapter!

**_martini the brave – _**Glad you enjoyed! Cyotes 4 eva!

_**windcriesjimi –** _Ooops! Thanks for spell check! Sorry about that!

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_Everyone else, hope you enjoyed too! Llamas, Ginger-Bizkit!_


	10. Giving In

**.:Giving In:.**

Igorance was a fine country: my uncle had always made sure of that. The land was prosperous, economically strong, more so than my father's land. Igorance was also the perfect place for me to recuperate after my long, frightening experience at the hands of the Dark Knights. Where once I would have laid on sofas, eating fruit and reading, daydreaming, and wishing myself a better life, with the safety and kindness of King Rychard's household, I refused to let myself be idle. As soon as the healers gave in to my constant pestering, I was out of my bed and wandering around the castle, looking for something to do. I'd never been to Igorance, though my stepmother/aunt, Queen Catheryn, had told me many stories about the place. As soon as my muscles felt stronger, I began the tiring job of convincing Uncle Rychard that even women needed to know how to wield a blade. Soon, my days were filled with sword and archery practice, and I even managed to get one of my uncle's sorcerers to teach me a little more about magic. Even if my magic didn't improve much, my self defence lessons were coming along in leaps and bounds. My tutors said I was a natural with the blade, that I would have been a ideal candidate for the royal guard, but a member of the family did not join the ranks of the commoners unless they were not legally recognised as a member. I took the compliments with a smile and another swing of the blade, relishing in the freedom I got from my new-found hobbies.

But, deep down, I knew I was just trying to keep Myron from my mind.

Five weeks into my activities, my uncle called me to his study. I was fresh out of training, my legs and arms still padded, my face red with effort. Uncle Rychard rose to greet me and smiled as I bowed as my brother would have done so, ignoring the sweat that poured down my face and soaked my clothes. The King of Igorance pinched my cheek fondly, as though I were a little child again, then asked, "What have you done with my sweet little niece? I barely recognise the fearsome young warrior before me!"

"Harte says I'm getting to old to be playing knights," I replied, quoting from the letter I had received from my brother not four days before. "He says Bacall is rethinking the marriage proposal: a woman who would rather swing a sword than leap into bed with him causes his ringed fingers to tremble with fear."

My uncle pretended not be amused, though I could see from the way his eyes danced that he was laughing inwardly. "Your fighting skills are not the only thing growing, Eloryn, my dear. Your courage is a far greater thing than what it was when you were just a child; you are even _more _like your mother now." The King turned to face the window that offered him a breathtaking view of his bustling capital. "But we have serious matters to discus, you and I, both of which you have just spoken of. Bacall is pressing for new marriage arrangements between he and yourself, and your father...your father wishes for you to return home."

I stepped back, alarmed. "What?"

"I have told him you are hardly ready for such a tiring journey, but Oren is being persistent." Uncle Rychard hung his head. "I can't keep you from Bacall forever, my dear, as much as I wish I could. You return home in two weeks time – it was the best I could do without provoking your father into declaring war on me!" he said quickly, as I opened my mouth to complain. "Eloryn, I hate Bacall as much as the next man, but I can't help it! You aren't my daughter, so I have no say in the matter!"

"What is your other piece of news?" I asked quietly, resigning myself to my fate. "I shan't say a word on the last, I promise."

"The Dark Knights have been spotted in the outskirts of Ordania. The renegade Knight who you claimed helped you escape had been cornered in a remote part of the moorlands there, pitted against four others, but my men broke their fight up. Two of the five demons present were killed; eighteen of my men were lost."

I moved to the wall, bracing myself against it as my knees grew weak. I started at my uncle, heart burning with worry. "And...the renegade?"

"He made it out safely," the King answered, and suddenly I could hold back my feelings no longer. I slumped to the ground as my knees gave way, weeping with relief. Rychard was at my side in seconds, kneeling besides me as he pulled my face up to him. When I tried to pull away, he hushed me, staring into my eyes intently. "You weren't brainwashed, were you?" he asked quietly, then frowned. "You really have feelings for that renegade. Do you realise how---"

"That I have a love for a man that I can never be with? That I'm a fool? That I'm some little whore?" I spat that last two words out, shocking my uncle. "Please, Majesty. I've heard it before, both from...the Dark Knight leader and from my own conscience."

I tried to shake my head in answer to his first question, but my muscles betrayed me: I nodded, biting my lip to stop my tears. "Please, Uncle, you _can't _tell my father, or Bacall. Not even Harte! Uncle, please, I am _begging _you!"

Rychard sighed and kissed my forehead gently. "What did my brother-in-law do to deserve a daughter like you? Eloryn, you _must _forget that other man – it cannot be."

He helped me stand, hugging me briefly before he said, "Go now. Enjoy yourself here as much as you can. Gods know, this may be the last time you can be yourself for a while. Neither your father nor Bacall will allow you to continue training as you have been." I bowed and turned to leave, brushing the tears away from my eyes. "Eloryn?" I turned. "I have...have arranged a masked ball in your honour, before you go. My sister Catheryn tells me you have never attended one before."

"I have not." My heart lifted a little: I'd always wanted to go to a masked ball, but my father said assassins and other monsters took advantage of those situations, and that he would not have one hosted in our palace. "That sounds lovely, Uncle."

"I'm sure you'll enjoy it very much," Rychard said cheerfully, then sighed. "Your mother loved masked balls, especially the ball when our father introduced her to the young King of Tirrius." I started, staring at him in surprise. "Four months later, the two were wed. You are dismissed, Eloryn."

_Fancy Father ever having an interest in a social life! _I thought as I wandered out of the room. I paused to think it over, but found it incredibly hard to picture my father dancing or smiling. _What's the use? The less I think of that old goat, the better! _

* * *

_My dream. Myron was standing on the dirt track, looking about himself tiredly. I ran at him, saw his face light up with joy, and suddenly I was in his arms, being swung round in the air as Myron laughed. "Eloryn! I've been searching for you, but you haven't been here!" He lowered me to the ground and pressed his lips up against mine, his hands on my back and my face all too real a sensation for me not to cry. _

"_They said you were in a fight!" I gasped, when we came up for air. "Myron, tell me the Dark Knights aren't ---"_

"_They're trying to kill me," Myron said bluntly, then sighed. For the first time that night, I looked at him. There were a few grey streaks in his hair, testimony to where the battles with the Dark Knights were draining him. "I won't let them, though. I'm going to Queen Heldrida."_

_I couldn't believe his words. "The witch-queen? Myron, won't she back the Dark Knights?"_

"_No," Myron replied quietly, the hesitated. "She is an ex-lover of mine, Eloryn. She said she owes me, and this is as fitting a time to pay her a visit. Elan would _never _dare to cross her." My suddenly flare of jealousy must have shown in my eyes, for Myron suddenly chuckled and kissed me again. "Heldrida isn't a threat to you, my love. She tires of her lovers after a while, and never gives an invitation more than five times. I like fighting for you."_

"_Just don't die trying," I whispered, pressing my nose to the open V of his shirt so I could inhale his scent. "Myron, my father is sending for me. He wants me to marry King Bacall as soon as possible, I fear. But I don't want to go! I want to be with you!"_

My dream was shattered as a maid pulled back the curtains, allowing the morning light to come spilling into my room. I lay very still, keeping my eyes closed as though waitingfor Myron to appear back in my mind. But he never did, and it was time to face another day.

* * *

The masquerade ball was more beautiful than I had ever imagined possible. Women in breathtaking gowns and stunning masks were whisked about the floor by men in equally elaborate masks. My uncle and his queen joined the couples on the floor, leaving me alone with my cousins, who were eyeing up anything in trousers. 

"Damn these masks!" my cousin, Princess Amylan, muttered bitterly. "It's all right we can speak to them, but I want to see their faces!"

"I prefer eyes," I replied, observing the dancers with an ache. No one had yet been able to muster the courage to asked Bacall's would-be fiancé to dance. "Eyes don't lie like a face does."

"Oh, I never knew _you _were a romantic, Ellie!" Princess Tanmar giggled, pinching my shoulder. "Father says you spend more time playing with swords than reading poetry!"

I jumped as Amylan began to tap my shoulder furiously, nodding towards a group of men. "Ellie, he's looking at you! The man over there!"

"Which mask is he wearing?" Tanmar asked excitedly, squinting over towards the group. "I can't see him!"

"The one with the black fathers," Amylan hissed, then faltered. "Oh my goodness! Ellie, he's coming over! He's definitely coming for you!"

I smiled as the man bowed lowly to us, but saw immediately his eyes were on Tanmar rather than Amylan or I. The girl jumped, obviously surprised, then allowed herself to be lead away to the dance floor, while purposefully ignoring Uncle Rychard as he paused from his own dancing to view the man holding his daughter's arm. "I honestly thought he was going to ask you," Amylan said sadly, then shrugged. "I fancy some more punch! Eloryn, will you accompany me?"

"I'd...I'd like a dance," someone said behind me, making me nearly drop my glass. "If you wouldn't mind." Amylan gaped in surprise as I turned to the masked man behind me, trembling violently. His crystal blue eyes danced humorously behind a simple grey mask as I stared at him, his black hair looking neatly brushed and cleaned. "Hello."

"What are you doing here?" I hissed, horrified. Myron grinned and offered me his arm, and I took it quickly, afraid he would vanish into thin air if I didn't have a hold of him. "Myron, has your brother scrambled your brain? I thought you were going to..._her_!"

"I am," Myron answered, leading me, unresisting, toward the floor. "I was on my way, heard there was a party, and thought I'd gatecrash." He turned and took hold of me, his touch devastatingly strong yet gentle at the same time. "This was the best I could do to see you in short notice."

I was suddenly being whisked around the floor with the other couples, dancing along in time to the fast, lively music of the orchestra. Myron was a surprisingly good dancer, and I suddenly found myself laughing as I held on to him. "You are either very brave or incredibly stupid!"

"A little of both, I think," he confessed, and then lowered his mouth to my ear, his lips tickling my skin, teasing. "This mask is much nicer than my old one, don't you think?"

"Come back with me," I begged suddenly, before I knew what I was saying. We both started, surprised by my abrupt invitation. "Back to my rooms. No one will notice I'm gone."

Myron stared at me for a moment, eyes filled with a mixture of shock and excitement. Then, to my relief, he nodded.

* * *

"You _have _to have death wish, coming here!" I gasped, as I felt Myron's hands pulled at the lace of my bodice. "Myron, _please!_" I pulled his head closer to mine, sighing as he eagerly returned my kiss. The lace came undone, and I helped him pull the gown away from my body. My mind was screaming no; my body was screaming yes. I was confused, unsure of what to do. The skin of his cool hands felt tough over my back and up my neck, betraying his years of unfair toiling and labour. "Myron!" 

He stepped forwards, moving me back towards the bed. He nearly tripped on the abandoned gown, only just managing to regain his balance by grabbing my shoulders in order to steady himself. We met each other's eyes and laughed foolishly, almost crazily, until both of us had tears in our eyes. Then Myron pulled his tunic up over his head, revealing the taught muscles of his chest beneath. I immediately stopped laughing, amazed by the sight once more – I'd almost forgotten who good his torso had looked before. I placed a hand against his naval, moving my fingers upwards over his chest to his neck.

Then he literally picked me up off the floor, slamming my smaller body against the wall but not so that he winded me. He kissed me again, hard, hands roaming up my body. My heart pounded madly, adrenaline rushing through my veins as Myron turned his attention to my breasts. I let him touch, let him kiss, let him suck, feeling like my heart would surely explode, breath short gasps, body shaking violently. Myron moaned as he felt himself rouse and he lowered his head to my neck, teeth biting firmly into my pale flesh. I could do nothing more but gasp and grit my teeth.

"Eloryn," I heard him rasp against my ear, voice ragged with emotion. "Eloryn, I--"

"Don't," I begged, making Myron start and look at me once more. I shook my head. "Don't tell me that you love me, Myron. Not unless you truly mean it."

He pressed his nose against mine, then kissed my forehead lightly. "I love you. I mean it with all my heart!"

To my humiliation, I started to cry. Myron gently lowered me to the ground, pulling my face back up to meet his, concern clear in his eyes. He opened his mouth to speak, but I merely pressed a finger up against his mouth and smiled. "I love you too, Myron! Gods help me, I do love you!"

Myron's smile nearly touched his ears. "Really? Do you...do you _really _mean that?"

"Yes!"

He stroked my cheek, then glanced towards my bed. "But you are right, Eloryn," he mumbled quietly. "We shouldn't allow ourselves to grow foolish. For all I love you, if we truly expressed that love, I could hurt you in more ways than one." He grinned as I tried to protest. "What would Bacall say?"

I pouted. "Bacall? I don't care about him, Myron! I don't _want _to marry him – I want to be with you!"

"I'm still on the run from the Dark Knights, Eloryn," Myron pointed out bitterly. "It would be too dangerous." He sighed and backed away, reaching for his tunic. I stepped forwards and grabbed his arm, making him pause and look at me. "Eloryn, I have to go. I can't stay here."

"Don't leave me like this!" I begged quietly, then blushed. "I don't want to have to marry Bacall and never experience what_ real _love is! I want to know what it feels like to lie with the man I really _do _love, Myron. Please? Make love to me?"

He fought back a grin. Myron coughed to try and hide his smile, dropping his tunic to the ground as he turned to face me once more. He held out his hand, and I took it obediently. Again I was lifted into his powerful arms. "I suppose _one _night can't hurt. And I'll be gentle with you," he promised quickly, as he lay me down on the bed. "I promise I will be."

I smiled up at him as he fumbled to undo his trousers. Already his hardness was painfully apparent through the black material. "Thank you, Myron."

"I love you," Myron whispered again, finally lying down atop of me. I gasped as he pushed himself up against me, alarmed by how much bigger he felt than I. "I'm sorry for being... I'm sorry!"

Then he surged forwards, pushing himself into me with such force that my back arched in his arms. I whimpered with pain as he began to pull slowly out of me again, only to push back into me until he could go no further just seconds before we could be separated. I wrapped my arms around his neck as he began to kiss at my neck once more, wanting only to cling to him for dear life. What followed still remains clear in my mind: pain, sadness, joy, fear, and comfort was just some of the things I found in his arms. Other feelings I had no name for, but they were blissfully wonderful. I knew for the first time in my life what it felt like to be of one body with another person, being so close to Myron that I felt as though we could never be parted. I never wanted to be parted from him!

Life had other ideas.

I woke slowly, feeling dazed. Then I remembered Myron, what we had shared, all that we had done during those moonlight hours. I smiled as I remembered, and reached out for him. My hand closed over the soft material of my covers, and I immediately shot upright in bed. I glanced desperately around the room, eyes frantically searching for Myron.

He wasn't there!

I scanned the room desperately, searching for the tiniest sign of Myron. My gown lay draped modestly across the back of the screen. My bed looked neat and undisturbed, save for where I slept. Even Myron's decorative mask had vanished. There was nothing left at all in the room to show any sign that the wanted Dark Knight had been in there last night. With me. _In _me.

"He didn't even say goodbye," I whispered, then lay back down and gazed numbly up at the ceiling. The passion of the previous night filled my head, and I clamped my eyes shut against the memories, which were now too bitter and painful to bear thinking about. "Myron? Please don't leave me. Please."

But he didn't hear my quiet pleas, for he had long since fled the castle walls.

* * *

I was back home, facing Papa, my brother and King Bacall after weeks of trying constantly to avoid my unwanted fate. My face was a blank mask, eyes cast down to the floor at my feet. Papa took one look at my face, sucked his teeth, then clapped his hands. "Speak, girl! Be quick about it!" 

I lifted my eyes from the floor, clasping my trembling hands behind my back so that neither of the men could see. "I will marry King Bacall, if it pleases Your Majesties," I whispered. Bacall leaned forwards in his seat, a superior look on his smooth face. Harte did not look so pleased and, as he rose to his feet, his eyes burned with the concern and fear only a devoted brother could feel for his baby sister.

He wasn't even the slightest careful in forming his next words, and the insult showed on Bacall's face. "But does the marriage please my sister?"

_Don't cry! _I curtsied lowly. "It does."

"Then it shall be!" our father shouted, clapping his hands again. He turned and embraced my future husband, saying, "Bacall, my boy, I said she'd come round!"

Harte stared at me. He stared so long and so hard, I feared he knew what I had done with Myron, and that I had missed three of my monthly bleeds. I was terrified: I was carrying the illegitmate child of one of the land's most hunted men! If anyone found out... I couldn't bear to think of what would lie in store for me or my child. Sometimes, late at night, I'd place my hands over my stomach and wish the baby would go away, that it had never happened, but secretly I knew I it wasn't the baby's fault - I'd been the one who'd given in to my desire for Myron. I didn't know whether to hate myself, hate Myron, hate the child, or be pathetically overjoyed. I hadn't dreamed of Myron for many weeks now, so I was dreading having to tell him my news. What would I say? How would he react? I _needed _to marry Bacall quickly, consumate a marriage, and claim that this repulsive womaniser was my child's father. I knew it would kill me to lie like that, but I risked my own execution if I did not. What could I do?

Finally Harte walked towards me and embraced me gently, before leaving the room without so much as a word to his fellow men. Father ignored his obvious insult, hauling Bacall out of his seat and down the stairs towards me.

"Daughter, today you make me the happiest man in the world!" my father said, and for the first and only time in my life, he smiled at me. He _really _smiled at me! Just as any proud parent would do at his darling daughter. But I knew why he was so happy, and my responding smile was void of all feeling.

Father was only happy about the marriage because it meant he could finally see the back of the daughter he'd wanted to disappear since the day of her birth.

* * *

**_Pirate - _**Thank you for your support again! Hope this chapter wasn't _too _disturbing! 

**_Jon – _**You are asking for trouble: Pay Back is in MY hands & you know it! Thanks though! XD

_Everyone else, hope you enjoyed too! Llamas, Ginger-Bizkit!_


	11. Carsona's Queen

**.:Carsona's Queen:.**

I was trembling with disgust as I stared towards the great doors into the Gods' Temple, knowing that beyond that decorative wooden barrier, down that long, lonely aisle, stood the man who I had just realised I hated more than I could have ever have imagined possible. I'd arrived back from Igorance, only to find that my betrothed had been called away to his own land, where a violent rebellion had broken out due to tax rises. For almost a month no word of King Bacall was heard, and my father was thrown into a terrible rage at the mere sight of me: I'd chased him away, Papa accused furiously; now he would never see the back of me! But then, just after I had been frantically praying for the occurrence of the womanly bleed after its second month of absence, the King of Carsona rode up to the gates of the palace. He was not denied entrance, and my father very nearly ran to him with opened arms.

It was my turn to turn and run. For almost four weeks, I spent all of my time dodging messengers calling for my attendance in meetings between my father and Bacall. When the two kings finally started hunting for me themselves, I removed myself to the palace attics, appearing just before dinner, and disappearing straight afterwards complaining of a terrible stomach ache or faintness. Of course, after reports of my reported daily vomiting, Papa and Bacall were all too eager to let me be. Then I mustered the courage to bring myself before the kings and agree to the marriage – my fears had been confirmed.

Barely a week later, and today was my wedding day, my fate as Queen of Carsona almost sealed – what I wouldn't _give _to be able to throw down the crystal cup in my hands and flee from the palace, racing towards the city and my freedom! I looked at the empty cup, my mouth feeling parched. With one sip of this cup, I would become a prisoner, yet I didn't have a choice. I was eighteen, a hated Princess, an embarrassment to my family, and secretly pregnant with the illegitimate child of a renegade Dark Knight, one of the world's most terrible Black Magic cults. The look that would appear on my father's face if I was so kind as to inform him that he would soon be a grandfather didn't bear _thinking _about! At least my marriage to Bacall would be cast out of the window – as I'd heard him say to my father the night before, he only wanted an unspoilt virgin bride.

_If I wanted a virgin groom, I'd have to look elsewhere_, I thought to myself, then sniggered. _Bacall's manhood has been used so many times during his life, by now it probably has all the beauty of a shrivelled, moulding prune!_

"Your Highness, _please_?" one of the attendants hissed, as I let out an undignified snort of laughter. "The congregation might hear you!"

"Give the child her laugh," one of my bridesmaids scolded – I had no idea who any of my bridesmaids were, save for three of my half-sisters, but they seemed to want to keep out of my way. "There is such a thing as wedding jitters! Let her have her giggle – what would the two kings say if she started laughing during the service? Let her get her nerves out of her system now."

But I didn't have time to get it all out of my system. Without a moment's warning, the sound of trumpets sounded, and suddenly the doors into the temple swung open. A sea of faces turned towards the back of the high-vaulted room, their faces a range of expressions: awe, sympathy, adoration, admiring, fear, and hatred. Harte stepped up to me, having been waited for my entrance in the temple proper. He smiled bravely as he laid his hand on my shoulder. I smiled as I let my brother lead me down the aisle towards my future-husband, though my hands still grasped the crystal cup.

"I suppose it is to late for me to beg you to run?" Harte whispered, barely able to keep the strain from his voice. "Bacall is a good ruler for Carsona, but he's a terrible man for my baby sister."

I looked up towards the temple's altar, where the Speaker of the Gods was standing, and before him... My mouth turned dry again, throat tightening as though a clamp had been forced over it. I could feel Bacall's dark eyes on me, and it was then that I realised that for a man that was literally about to become my husband in a few minutes, I had never taken into account his features. The first time I'd met him I'd been kidnapped by Myron and the Dark Knights, and then I had been so taken by the renegade that I had never thought to think of Bacall.

I raised my eyes and studied his face as I neared him, and felt myself start. He really _was _a very striking man: tall and burly, with a face that looked like it had been carved by the gods themselves! His nose was perfectly straight, his lips full and curved into a proud smile. His dark eyes were large... _Like a cow's_, I thought abruptly, then coughed to hide my snort of laughter. So he was handsome! But Harte's words to me of his cold nature, and Myron's of his flirtatious ways, made his looks seem harsh to my eyes. I cast my eyes to the floor as I walked, wishing the day were over.

Harte paused by Bacall, bowing slightly. His eyes were as hard as stone as he embraced my cheek gently, then he turned and walked over to where our stepmother, siblings, his wife and sons all stood to watch, their faces eager. Even my father was standing to witness the marriage. _At least this service is short_, I thought, as I turned to face Bacall. _I would _hate _for Papa to get a cramp from standing for too long._

The Speaker of the Gods stepped forwards, raising his hands as he called upon our various gods to give their blessing to our union, the uniting of our two countries, our children, blah-blah-blah... I lifted my chin and let the words wash over me, gazing into Bacall's eyes. He returned my stare, the air about him almost radiating with smugness. Then he coughed, and nodded to the cup in my hands. After an encouraging nod from the Speaker, I realised to my horror that I'd missed my queue. I quickly raised the crystal glass, allowing Bacall to empty his small bottle of wine into it.

"With the drinking of this blessed wine, so the uniting of King Bacall and Princess Eloryn in exchanging of this drink opens doors to the exchanging of their love." Bacall drank deeply before handing me the cup; I dared not hesitate in drinking – the disgrace on my family would be unbearable. I sipped generously, then lowered the glass. As I did so, my mind went numb with the sickening realisation – I was now Bacall's lady. Queen Eloryn of Carsona.

The congregation had burst into wild cheers and enthusiastic applauding behind us, as though having just witnessed the finest play ever to have been written. As the Speaker took the cup and bottle, Bacall took my hand in his own cold hands and kissed my fingers, holding my gaze. I shuddered involuntarily as his tongue touched my fingertips briefly, but the touch was gone before anyone could notice his inappropriate action.

"My lady," he said quietly, as the trumpets sounded out above the toiling of the great bell above the temple. "You have made a poor, selfless king happier than any commoner in either of our motherlands."

"My lord King," I returned, but I did not give him a compliment. His own had burned my heart. "I look forward to our life."

King Bacall smiled back, then turned towards the congregation with me at his arm. For the first time in my life, I was presented before a people as a Queen. I studied their faces with a fixed smile on my face, but secretly all I wanted to do was force my fingers into my mouth and bringing that wretched wine back up into the open. But there was someone other than myself that I had to think of, for their protection. And I _could not _allow them the shame of my actions to haunt them during their own lifetime.

_You'd best be grateful to me_, I thought to the child I knew was within me even at that very moment. _I found you a father who will protect you and make sure your life is cushioned as possible. But it is not the man I would have chosen, not if I'd had any say in the matter._

With one last curtsy towards my father, Bacall led me away down the aisle toward the main doors and beyond, where a glorious feast had been prepared in our honour. Tirrius would soon be rid of its cursed Princess for good.

* * *

"My dear, you look tired," Bacall commented as he looked from his seat opposite my own, peering over the book in his hands. "What is wrong? Is something not to your pleasing" 

I smiled as humorously as I could, but I knew Bacall could see through my look for the frown that appeared on his face. We'd been travelling by carriage over the land for almost four days now, with only short breaks for luncheon, before we invaded some poor, rich noblemen's household for supper, rooms for the night, and breakfast the next morning. I felt like some cheep little whore, being so desperate, but I could scarcely keep the question from rolling off my tongue as I smiled.

"My lord, does it not...trouble you that we have not consummated our marriage yet? It has been four ---"

Bacall grinned sinfully as he held up his hand to silence me. "Nay, Eloryn, it does not. I thought it would be nicer for you if I expressed my love in our own palace, back in Carsona." Everyday I waited would be an extra day for my child to grow a little stronger within me – I _needed _to have sex with Bacall before it was too late, but the foolish man had refused all my advances! "You will not regret the wait, my dear, I can assure you of that! I am...experienced, as I think my reputation will have reached even your pretty ears." His eyes glinted as he misinterpreted my sudden dash for speaking as an act of some type of modesty on his behalf. "Do not worry, Eloryn. You are not the first woman to have begged me to follow them into bed!"

_And I doubt I'll be the last_, I thought, surprising myself with the venom. "Bacall, a woman has needs. Surely _you _must have them, as well?"

"Quite obviously," my husband replied smugly. His eyes roamed my body for the umpteenth time that day. "And it pains me that I cannot give in to you, my dear, but I have decided that we will wait for our arrival back in Carsona. I want any child of ours to be sired within the walls of my palace, and not in some snobby duke's shack."

I sighed bitterly to myself, glaring out of the window with no other idea of how to make Bacall come to see sense. I could pounce on him right there and then? No, this was too public: I met the eye of the mounted solider out of the window and smiled politely.

The next noblemen's home? I cringed at the memory of my last attempt to seduce my husband just the night before – it had gone pretty well to begin with, and I had managed to coax the man into removing his shirt while pressing my embarrassingly bear self up against his chest as I'd kissed him with what I hoped he'd have thought of as willing passion. But when I began undoing his trousers, the biggest, egotistic womaniser-King ever to have been born on the earth pushed me away, and thanked me kindly for the sweet taster of what lay in store for him! For the love of all magic, I was _throwing _myself at him! And he wasn't responding!

_Now I know how Myron felt_, I thought sulkily, fighting an instinct to pout. _I shouldn't have refused _any _of his advances. Maybe if I hadn't, Bacall wouldn't be refusing mine. _Then I realised just how stupid my thoughts were growing, and surrendered myself to pure and utter boredom as I stared out onto a bleak, dismal countryside that seemed to be mocking me. No matter how far was travelled, or for how long, nothing on the horizon seemed to change. It was as though nature itself was damning me to an eternity of having to wait for Bacall.

My eyes flickered shut against the world, and as I fell asleep I heard my mind screaming desperately over and over again, begging and pleading for the dream to arrive. I hoped my mouth was not screaming as well.

_Myron! Myron! I must speak you with, Mryon, _please_! Myron! I know you can hear me, even if you won't dream of me! Myron, talk to me! Myron!_

_

* * *

_

Queen Heldrida pushed her dazzling green hair back off her face as she observed herself in a large, gold-plated mirror. Her elegant face and sensual lips made her as desired by the men in her country of Ronash as Bacall was desired by the women in Carsona. But all the time, her eyes kept flickering to the young man who paced the floor behind her, cursing and muttering furiously as he rubbed his head with trembling hands. Finally, the witch-queen could take no more, and Heldrida snapped her fingers. The young man stopped pacing to look at her.

"Myron, have I ever told you how terribly distracting your presence can be?" the woman asked softly. Her voice sounded like the purest water flowing gently over tiny crystals. "You look troubled, my love. Tell me, is it that girl again?"

Myron's crystal blue eyes filled with hurt at the words 'that girl', obviously angered that Heldrida had guessed so well. "Yes. Eloryn keeps trying to contact me, but I...I _can't _face it. I can't face _her_!"

"Oh, I do so love a distressed Myron," Heldrida teased, turning away from the mirror to face the young man herself. "Did I ever tell you how cute you are when you frown?" Myron's frown turned into a scowl of annoyance. "So you bedded the girl, Myron – what of that? So your brother is now calling for your blood – what of _that_? You are safe here. If you don't wish to talk to the girl..."

"I'm _embarrassed_, Heldi!" Myron complained desperately. "She's the only person I've ever _really _loved, and I... I can't believe what we shared! I'm terrified that she was just using me, that she doesn't really---"

Heldrida waved Myron's words away with a snort of disbelief. "You fool, boy! If Eloryn only wanted to get a bit of pleasure out of you, so what? It's not anything _you _haven't done before."

The rage in Myron's eyes burned like fire. "I _love _her! I'd kill myself rather than have her laugh in my face!" Then he realised that he'd raised his voice against the queen, and lowered himself to his knee. "Majesty, I don't know what came over me! I'm just... I... I won't ask for forgiveness, not after what you've done for me."

Myron heard his old friend sigh sadly, and her skirts whispered besides him as Queen Heldrida knelt next to him. She smiled gently as she raised Myron's head, kissing him on the cheek – more of a sisterly embrace than that of one between old lovers. "No, Myron. It is _I _that should be begging forgiveness from you."

"What do you mean? You know I don't like it when you say things like that – you're tricks are tedious and often quite deadly." The witch-queen hung her head, and Myron was horrified to see the woman was crying. "Heldi? Heldi, what's the matter?"

"Myron, don't!" the witch-queen snapped, pushing Myron's arms away from her as he tried to comfort her. "You're right: my tricks _are _deadly! Because of me, your own brother wants you dead! It's all my fault! I just wanted you to be _happy_, after all the joy you gave me!"

Myron stared at her in horror. When he spoke, his voice was low and deadly, like the warning hiss of a poisonous snake about to strike at its prey. "_What_?"

"I s-saw you, Myron, in a dream," the witch-queen said mournfully. "When we were together, in the old days, I had a vision in a dream that you would kidnap Princess Eloryn. She was pretty, intelligent, caring – she was everything I wanted for you in a woman. There was also a potential for her to love you, Myron, to _truly _love you – that was something I couldn't give you. My heart and yours were never meant to be."

Myron rose to his feet stiffly, his eyes narrowed as he glared down at Heldrida. "I still don't understand," he said softly. "Eloryn and I---"

"Dreamt of one another," Heldrida replied, standing herself. She raised her chin, observing Myron with calm eyes that were suddenly void of tears. "I erased all memory of dreams from both yours and her mind – an easy task for someone like me – and then I made you two dream of one another. It is all you two shall ever dream of. The night after I cast my final spell, _you, _Myron, confessed you could no longer return with me to my rooms, and I was glad: you could not love me any more, not when you were suddenly seeking someone else." The look on Myron's face was suddenly unreadable. "And now I see how stupid and selfish I was. You met Eloryn, fell in love, made love, and now the two of you are broken because of my actions."

"I could _die _because of what you did," the man suddenly accused.

"I know. But at least you found love, Myron – the path you chose, tricking women so freely and selfishly, would have made sure you would never be happy. Can you truly blame me for finding you your one true love?"

Myron looked at Heldrida. Then he started to laugh and laugh and laugh, until he turned and flung himself into the warm embrace of the nearest armchair. "She calls for me every single night! Every single time she falls asleep, she screams for me, and I can hear her now, even when _I'm _awake! Eloryn won't leave me alone!"

"Lovers can be rather persistent," Heldrida admitted dully. "Do you think maybe you should answer her?"

Myron fought the last of his laughter away, spluttering into his fist as he did so. He shook his head. "No. I always complicate things for her."

"You won't be able to resist her call forever, Myron."

"I know," Myron said, then grinned. "She'll drive me insane if I try."

* * *

**_Pirate - _**More trouble! XD 

**_martini the brave – _**Thanks for the research! I couldn't remember where I'd described him!!!!

_**The Faery Dreamer **-_ Hope this explained previous hic-up ok!

**_Jon _**- Dare I bother? Oh all right then! Thank you!

_Everyone else, hope you enjoyed too! Llamas, Ginger-Bizkit!_


	12. The Start Of The Rest Of My Life

**.:The Start Of The Rest Of My Life:.**

_Myron was there, in our dream. But he wasn't acknowledging my presence. He was seated on the ground by the road, purposefully ignoring me as I sat down besides him. When I laid my hand on his shoulder, he gently shrugged it away. _

"_What have I done, Myron?" My voice was choked with tears. He grimaced at the sound – pain flashed in his eyes. "Why are you ignoring me like this?"_

_He didn't answer. I remained at his side, my mind buzzing with questions. Should I tell Myron about his child? Should I tell him of my marriage to Bacall? How would he react? What had I _done_? I touched his cheek gently, working my fingertips back into the tight mess of his black curls, trying to gain even an ounce of knowledge of what he was feeling behind that unreadable mask of his face. He shoulders relaxed as I lovingly massaged his scalp, eyes falling closed as he sighed._

"_Eloryn, do you hate me?"_

_I was taken a-back by his question. "How could I hate you? Myron, I could never find reason to hate you."_

"_Not even after all I did?" He turned to me, his crystal blue eyes pleading with me as he took my hands in his. "I drugged you. I kidnapped you. I hit you. I tried to take advantage of you. And yet still you claim that you do not hate me?"_

"_No, I don't," I soothed, heart fluttering at the feel of his touch on my hands. "We were both stupid, Myron, but that was in the past." I hesitated. "Myron, my father made me marry King Bacall. And I wish he had not."_

_The renegade cursed bitterly under his breath as he gathered me into his arms. I was weeping, unashamed, into his shirt, taking comfort in his smell and hold. "You do know we can't continue our affair, Eloryn. Not now. Bacall has spies, his walls most likely have ears – it would not be safe." He cursed bitterly, then looked into my face. "And has he consummated your..."_

_His question hung in the air, unfinished, but no more needed to be said. I was trembling as I answered. "No. He said he wanted to wait until we arrived back in Carsona, but it's been two days since then."_

"_I knew he was a fool, but not _that _much of a fool," Myron muttered, then suddenly he had my head held tenderly in his hands, his lips moving against mine. I flung my arms around his neck, kissing him back hungrily, desperately, and Myron soon gave in and returned my passion. When we finally came up for air, he finished what he had been trying to say. "If I were him, I wouldn't be able to wait."_

"_Tell me you're safe?"_

"_I am."_

"_Your brother has left you alone?"_

"_He has not, but I _am _safe."_

"_And...and Heldrida...?"_

_Myron grinned and pinched my cheek fondly. "She like a sister to me now, Elle. She did this you know – made us dream of one another. It was to make us happy."_

_I couldn't help but laugh bitterly. "I could only be happy with you, Myron, and I'm not! Are you going to stop dreaming of me? Now that..."_

_Myron shook his head. "I couldn't, not even if I wanted ---"_

...My dream was shattered as the door to my chambers closed, and I heard someone walking towards my bed. I lay where I was, keeping the trembling of fear from my body, and slowly opened my eyes.It was Bacall, and he was staring at me.

"Your Majesty," I acknowledged, knowing that my tone was cold. _You took me away from Myron! I wish I could kill you rather than look at you!_

Bacall shed his dressing gown, revealing he was naked already. I looked at him with even, judgemental eyes, and felt bile rising to my throat. He was a fine figure of a man, his growth cushioned by the luxury of his life; a figure I would soon know intimately. It was one I knew I would never love. I forced myself not to shudder as the man slid into the bed besides me, feeling his eyes darken as he saw my figure was still concealed by my nightgown. I felt myself stiffen as he pulled at the ribbon of the clothing, wanting to get it away from my body – he was going to consummate our marriage! _I'd have rather stayed with Myron_, I thought bitterly, as I allowed him to remove the nightgown. I'd have to surrender myself to him, or else risk insulting him. That would most like spark a war between Carsona and Tirrius, and that was the last thing I needed to be blamed for!

What followed was awful. A wedding night was supposed to be special, I thought, passionate yet sweet: the consummation of a marriage by expressing love. Bacall knew only the physical side of love, and he treated me with all the brutality a soldier might treat a simple village wench he pulled to the ground while plundering her village. Unlike the girl, I had to bite back my screams, though my tears refused to stay at bay. His greedy hands bruised the pale skin of my breasts, stomach and legs, his teeth leaving great bleeding marks wherever and whenever he felt it necessary to do so. I tried to cling to him, if only to stop him from doing those things to me, but each time he would place one hand between my breasts and force me back down onto the velvet covers, shaking his head.

"You don't get to play," he told me through gasps, then fell back on top of me.

_Myron! _I bit my lip until blood welled there, clenching my hands into fists. _Myron! I'm sorry! I love you, Myron! I love you!_

It took Bacall more attempts to force his way into me than Myron had, cursing me angrily as he did so, apparently uninterested that I could hear every word he said. Myron had been gentle, loving, tender, showing me how sex was supposed to be. Bacall thudded into me as though he had more important things to do, and I was simply a distraction. His brute force ripped through me, making me scream out loud, begging him to stop. The man did not listen, snapping at me not to be stupid, before clamping his mouth down over mine to stop my words. I sobbed against his lips, terrified and in agony. Then Bacall stopped, slowly raising his head away from mine, and when I finally opened my eyes and blinked away my tears, I saw the livid look on his face and almost died.

"What," he snarled, "did you say?"

"Why would I say anything, my lord?" I whispered. _How _could_ I have said anything, more like!_

The King's face didn't soften. "You said 'My...', and don't deny it! I heard you!"

_Shit! _I could scarcely believe myself! _Myron! _"I was only expressing my great desire for my lord," I said hurriedly, then reached up and stroked Bacall's burning face with soothing fingers. His eyes began to flutter close as my fingers worked back into his hair. "I was going to say 'my lord King', then compliment you on your fearsome passion." His eyes opened at that, and I smiled. "I never knew it was quite like this." _And I hate it!_

The King of Carsona scanned my face with his stern eyes, then suddenly rolled off me, freeing me. He got out of the bed, snaring his dressing gown and throwing it over his shoulders. "I have consummated our marriage enough." He turned and looked at me as he finished tying the sash, eyes gleaming with the memories of his time with me. "I have mistresses, Your Majesty, more than you have fingers on your hands. There have been...unwanted accidents in the past, so now I make sure they will not bear me children. That, my lady, will be _your _job, besides giving my country a pretty face for its queen."

I snorted. "So I am to be a prized doll that you drag out into society when you will? To crawl back to whenever you of your mistresses has a cold?"

Bacall stepped forwards, backhanding me with more force than Myron had ever used. "You will be whatever I say you shall be! And you shall not speak to me in that tone! As my queen, your soul _purpose _is to bear me children – heirs for my throne! I trust you can do that?"

_I will bear a child in seven months time, but thank all gods it is not yours! _"I can. My lord King," I added quickly, then sighed with relief as Bacall slammed his way out of my chambers. I buried my face in my hands, thinking quickly – wasn't there _any _way of getting Bacall to leave me alone? I needed freedom, not a prison!

My mind hurt with memories of my time with my new husband, and I slowly laid back down on the bed, biting my lip as I thought. I put one hand on my stomach, wincing as my finger touched a delicately bleeding bite to my naval – that man wasn't a king, he was a _monster_! He'd probably eat my child for breakfast as soon as look at it, if I didn't obey him! A sudden, overwhelming sense of protectiveness flared within me, and I clenched my free hand into a fist, ready for a non-existent fight.

"I'm going to protect you, my little one," I whispered to the growing child within me, keeping my voice down so low that even _I _nearly missed my words. "I hope Bacall didn't harm you."

_It would be funny if my first-born is a male_, I found myself thinking, smiling to myself. _Just think: Carsona would one day be ruled by Myron's child, and not the mad King Bacall's son! Maybe it would cleanse the obvious insanity from that family line? _Then I remembered Elan, the twisted leader of the Dark Knights, and cursed bitterly. "Face it, little one, you're going to have insanity in your blood, be it full true-blue or not!"

_I wish your father were here. I don't want you to call Bacall 'Father'! I don't want him to have anything to do with you! But there's nothing that can help us now. Not even Myron could help us now._

There was to be no last minute rescue from my beloved, like when I had been close to my death at the teeth of Rhianna. At least I had a vague idea where Myron was. At least I knew for certain that he was still alive.

_

* * *

_

**.:Seven Months Later:.**

I felt like I was drowning in sweat. I lay on the birthing bed, feeling like every molecule of energy within my body had been sucked out of me and thrown to the dogs. It was the least I could do to try and block the excited whispers of the watchers in the room: Bacall, ministers, my husband's two sisters, a priest, several healers, a musician and, to my great annoyance, a man who kept claiming childbirth was a gift to women so there was no pain involved – we screamed merely for the attention.

_I'll give you some attention in a minute! _I thought angrily, but truly I didn't have strength to even open my eyes. I didn't even care that Bacall was even now flirting with one of my ladies in waiting, ignoring the midwife who was cleaning the wriggling, bawling creature in her arms. I'd given birth to my baby at last, and I suddenly started laughing – all these people had been summoned to my birthing room to witness the birth of their King's child, to make sure there was no exchange of baby after its birth, but no one but I knew that the exchange had happened before the marriage.

"Poor child's delirious," someone muttered. "Oh, but look! Here's the little Princess now!"

"You have a daughter, Your Majesty," the midwife told me gently, then helped position my arms so that I could see my child. "Congratulations."

I stared at her. Her eyes were scrunched as she cried, her little face pink with her wails. Bacall finally managed to tear his attention away from the servant, crossing to the bed to peer at the child in my arms as I cuddled her close, kissing her raven-black curls. I couldn't help myself, my laughter gave way to tears of joy. Bacall didn't even look remotely impressed.

"A girl. She's a bit big for a premature baby, is she not?"

"She's...she's perfect," I whispered, mesmerised. My husband grunted. "What is it, my lord? Does my daughter not please you?"

"If she was perfect," Bacall replied harshly, "she would have been born a boy. Girls can't inherit the throne in Carsona. We _needed _a Prince."

"You'll have your Prince, Your Majesty," I told him bluntly, then gasped. "Oh, by the gods! Her...her _eyes!_"

Bacall looked down and sighed. "They're blue. What of it?"

I hugged my daughter closely again, happier than I'd been for months. My daughter had her father's eyes! "I love her! Oh, Bacall, I love her so much!"

"Good," Bacall grunted. "Then you can name her." He turned to a guard, nodding to the window. "Well, I have a child, whether it be a disappointment or nay." The poor guard looked confused, and Bacall suddenly glared at him, as though he'd missed the punchline of the best joke ever invented by mankind. "The bells ought to be ringing, you imbecile!"

The man nodded vigorously and charged out of the room. Minutes later, bells began to chime, heralding the arrival of the county's new princess. I stroked my daughter's cheek, smiling as though I would never stop. "Maybe you won't rule, maybe you aren't the desired child, but you're perfect to me, my love!"

Bacall touched my shoulder. "What's the name to be, then?"

I frowned, hesitating. Ideally, I wanted Myron to name his daughter, but I couldn't tell Bacall that. _Oh, do you mind if I just pop out of the country to ask a renegade member of the Dark Knights to name _his _child? _Somehow, I didn't think that would go down too much of a treat. "May I have more time to think this over, my lord? Names are very important – we don't want her to be named just _anything_, do we?"

"Come up with something by the dawn bell in two days time, or else I'll name her myself." He paused then placed his lips against my cheek, as though for a kiss. His voice, silky soft and quiet, told me gently, "You'd best give me a son, next time, Eloryn. I _need _a son, not some daughter that I can only use for marriages. As soon as you are feeling better, we shall try again."

I smiled thinly as he backed away. "I look forward to it." _I'd rather stab my own eyes out!_

Bacall nodded and left the room. I looked at my child – _Myron, I love you! – _and swore to myself that I would call for him in my dreams. I would scream for Myron, begging him to come to me in our dream, and then I would tell him. He deserved to know what had happenedby now.

* * *

_Myron snorted with laughter. "You're teasing me," he said bitterly. "That can't be true."_

"_She's yours, Myron," I insisted gently, then laid a hand on his arm. "I might have married the King of Carsona, but I bore _your_ child. I thought you needed to know."_

_The man was very quiet for a moment, staring at me in horror. The scowl that appeared on his face made me falter. _No! No, this isn't happening!

"_Do you realise that I'm now going to have to live with the fact that I'm a father, yet I'll never see my daughter? I'm never going to see her grown, I'll never see hear her first words, I'll..." He swallowed, hard, eyes overflowing. "She's never going to call me 'Daddy'."_

"_You care more than Bacall does," I commented, feeling ashamed. _How could I have been so selfish?

_Myron grunted. "I told you he was like that. Eloryn, I want to see her."_

_I knew I couldn't stop him. "But you can't come to the palace. It's not like you can just knock on the gates and ask to see the Princess, can you? Gods, Myron, I'm so sorry! I shouldn't have come, I ---"_

_Myron smiled gently as he took my hand, eyes suddenly insistent. "I can take care of myself, and I don't need to ask permission to get into the palace. If you wake up and you still hold my hand, I can follow you out of the dream and to wherever you are. I _want _to see her, Eloryn. I'll gatecrash the first party your husband hosts if I have to, but I am _going _to see my daughter, one way or another."_

"_I just have to wake up?" I asked, looking at his hand in mine. "I'll do it."_

_Myron nodded, laying the fingers of his free hand on the pulse in my neck, eyes closing as he whispered strange words to me, _and suddenly I was awake, staring into Myron's face. He was lying besides me in the bed, his eyes slowly opening. He released my hand and rolled out of the bed, turning to look at me. "Where is she, then?"

I nodded and slipped out from between the covers, snatching up my dressing gown and throwing it over my shoulders. I walked towards the secret door behind the tapestry depicting one of Bacall's ancestor's great battles, signalling for Myron to follow. "We can reach the night nursery this way."

The passage was quiet and deserted, and Myron's breath sounded frightened behind me. I could tell from the stiffness of his shoulders that he did not like being in the palace any more than I liked leading him through it, but there was no denying his desire to see the child. The night nursery was empty as well, the guard outside unaware that anyone had entered the room. I crossed quickly to the cradle, Myron following slowly behind me. He stepped up to the bars of the crib, holding his breath. His hands clutched the wooden sides, knuckles pallid. "She's...she's _perfect!_"

"I know. She has your hair, your eyes---"

"But your face," Myron said, then grinned at me. "May I bless her? What's her name?"

I blushed, shrugging my shoulders. "Bacall said I could choose, but I...I wanted you to name her, Myron."

His face lit up. "Really? You know I'd want to name her after you."

I fought back a laugh. "But that would seem too vain on my part!"

"Well, then what about...Myran?"

"Too obvious," I scolded, as Myron suddenly enfolded me into a tight hug, chuckling. "Myron, I don't want the guards to hear us."

I heard him click his tongue impatiently on the roof of his mouth as he thought, his eyes fixed on our child. Slowly, he released me, stepping forwards so that he could gather the baby into his arms. She mewled slightly as she woke, but Myron hushed her quickly. My heart clenched as father and daughter looked into each other's crystal blue eyes, and then I smiled as Myron kissed her forehead gently. "I'd like to call her Thalia."

"Tar-lee-ah," I whispered, trying to get my tongue round the name. "Then that is what she shall be called."

Myron nodded, laying a finger clumsily on the child's forehead. He was about to whisper a blessing, when he suddenly withdrew his hand, a small hiss of surprise issuing from his parted lips. "Eloryn! Heavens, she's...she is..."

Panic made me step forwards towards him, my eyes filled with concern. I wanted to take my daughter – Thalia – and hold her close to me. "What's wrong with her?" I demanded quietly. "Myron, what is it? What's wrong with our daughter?"

"She's...so...powerful." Myron sounded as though he couldn't quite believe his own words. "She's even more powerful than I am! Eloryn, do you realise how dangerous this makes her? If Thalia doesn't get the right magical schooling, she could... Her power could consume her. I'd hate to think what Bacall would do if he realised just how powerful Thalia is." His eyes darkened. "He could use her as a weapon, a brutal killing machine; with the right schooling and the wrong motives, she could wipe out the whole of the Dark Knights if she wanted to."

I couldn't except his words, staring at the tiny little thing in his arms. "But she's not even a child yet!"

"You have to look after her," Myron told me, then scowled. "I wish I could tutor her myself! I could help her understand her magic, but I'm---"

"Sir, I hear voices!" I heard someone shout outside.

Myron pushed Thalia into my arms, kissed her forehead once more, then looked at me. His mouth made no sound, but his pleading eyes said more to me than any words could have done. _Protect her – she may be an adoptive Princess, an extraordinary little girl, but she will _never _be just a girl! She's too powerful for that!_

The door to the night nursery burst open, and suddenly Thalia began to wail. The guards lowered their swords as they saw me with the baby in my arms, but there was no one else in the room. Thinking they had made a terrible misjudgement, the three men bent to the their knees, heads bowed in shame. "Forgive us, Majesty! We thought there was an intruder!"

"That's quite all right," I answered, forcing myself not to glance round – where had Myron gone? "I trust there have been no other causes for concern?"

"No, Ma'am. The little Princess has been left alone, save for the nursing lady and the nanny."

"Good." I tried to hush Thalia, but she would not be silenced. To my despair, the nanny was soon ushered into the room, and my child was plucked from my arms and soothed far more easily by this woman who I had never even laid eyes on before. I felt useless suddenly – I couldn't even calm my own baby.

* * *

**_Pirate - _**Cut her a break? Nooooooo! Thanks for the review! 

**_martini the brave – _**Again thanks for the research! XD

_Everyone else, hope you enjoyed too! Llamas, Ginger-Bizkit!_


	13. A Dangerous Punishment

**.:A Dangerous Punishment:.**

**.:Nine Year's Later:.**

The stable hands bowed to me as I entered the stable yard that morning, and one of them pointed towards the fields that lay just behind the buildings. I nodded in thanks and hurried on, feeling my nervousness building at the back of my throat and turning my mouth dry. My husband was furious: today, in front of select member of his court, King Bacall would announce our son, Prince Aswen, as his successor after the King's death. Everything was read, from the flower displays to the seemingly overly ornate crown that had been especially made to sit snugly on Aswen's little head. But that was not why Bacall had taken time out of his busy schedule to track me down in the nursery, where I had been trying to soothe our terrified son's nerves. It was time for the family to get dressed in all of our finery to celebrate the announcing of the Crown Prince, Bacall had told me quietly, after he had pulled me into a corner of the room.

And Princess Thalia was missing.

So here I was, hurrying down to the place I _knew _my daughter would be. Thalia was three weeks off her ninth birthday, an adored child, and already famed throughout Carsona for her beauty, which would only grow and grow in the future. So far, Bacall had had my daughter brought before visiting ambassadors of five different lands, all of whom seemed eager to set up a marriage between Thalia and the Princes of their own lands. That was another issue that made the temples in Bacall's forehead throb to bursting point, and I couldn't help smile as I hear again my daughter's stubborn voice in my mind as she had confronted her father after the last such visitation:

"I'm not going to have an arranged marriage, thank you very much, Father. Besides, Prince Yohan looks like a toad and smells like a pig – we'd _never _get along."

Oh, how Bacall had screamed at me! I was poisoning 'our' daughter's mind, he'd accused, and to disobey a King in the way Thalia had just done was treason! When I had inquired calmly if even _he _had the courage to behead his own daughter, Bacall had slammed his way out of the room and refused to acknowledge either myself or Thalia for over a week.

I reached the fields just as a bank of clouds covered the sun above our heads. As the world grew grey around us, casting eerie shadows along the ground ahead of me from the gnarled trees behind me, I heard my daughter's voice screaming with laughter.

"CAUGHT YOU!" Thalia was screaming, and I breathed out a sigh of relief. "'_Dragon's breath, dragon's snout, Lady Rhianna snuffs you out!' _Now you have to catch me, Seth!"

Thalia suddenly came hurtling along the field in line with the fence, followed closely by her best friend Seth, the son of the chief hostler at the palace. The two had been playmates since Thalia had been able to push herself up onto her feet and waddle around. I remember times when, while watching Bacall riding down in the very field my daughter was playing in now, a four-year-old Seth would be helping my two-year-old daughter to walk up and down the path from the stable yard to the field, watched by Thalia's grim-faced guards. I did not mind their friendship, but I knew Bacall disapproved of it, and I had fought bitterly with him to allow Thalia to continue meeting up with Seth – although there were palace children how Bacall frequently pushed onto my daughter, Thalia did not like them. The boys constantly taunted Thalia for her proffering to wear trousers and shirts instead of dresses – which often led to fearsome fights, where both the girl and boys received several bashed noses – and the girls was tease Thalia for her bruises and cuts. Seth wasn't like that, and it pained me to have to interrupt their game while they were having so much fun.

"Thalia! Thalia, come here, please!" I called, making the two children stop dead in their tracks. I saw the friends glance worriedly at each other, then they hesitantly clambered over the fence and walked slowly up towards me.

Both dropped to a bow. "Hello, Mother. What have I done?"

"We need to get ready to watch the King make Aswen the Crown Prince," I replied calmly. I saw Thalia roll her beautiful eyes at my words, and I couldn't help by frown disapprovingly. "There is no need for jealousy, my dear, but there _is_ need for haste – the King is having a fit! Why did you just run off like that when the King was looking for you? You knew today is Aswen's big day! Surely you can be there for sisterly support?"

Seth looked up at me and then glanced at Thalia. His sandy hair was constantly covered in dust from the stable hay, and his brown eyes were deep and intelligent for one so young. "Thalia, I probably need to go back to work now, anyway," he told her slowly. "I'll see you later."

Thalia nodded and hung her head. Seth bowed to me again and started up the hill once more, leaving us alone together. Thalia refused to meet my eye.

"Do you have an explanation, Thalia?"

The girl was silently for a moment. "I had a fight with Relnarin this morning. He said I was a disappointment to the kingdom – father doesn't love me because I am a...a girl." She flinched at the memory, and I heard a sob building up at the back of her throat. "I...hit him. He said he would tell Father, and then I'd be in big trouble because the King says I'm not supposed to fight any more."

"Is that why you ran away?" I asked gently, as Thalia's stubborn pride forced her tears to stay at bay. "Because of what that annoying little boy said?"

"But Father's going to be angry with me. Again. I don't like it when he shouts."

I lowered myself to my knees besides her, pulling Thalia into a warm embrace. She hugged me back as hard as she could, her head buried into my shoulder as she cried, and I couldn't help but think of her father. Her _real _father. Myron might have been annoyed that she fought, angry that she had run away, but would he shouted at her to the extent that Bacall usually did? I doubted it, and resentment flourished within my breast. "Thalia, your father loves you very, very much."

But my daughter still thought of Bacall as her father, and she looked at me with her crystal blue eyes wide with objection. "He loves Aswen. _Everyone_ loves Aswen; everyone just tells me off for being...for being myself! I want to fight, slay demons, battle with sorcerers, and yet I'm always being ordered to put on stupid dresses!" She pouted, suddenly ashamed of her outburst. "You can't do those things in _dresses_."

I stood, glancing back at the palace as though I could _feel _Bacall's mounting anger. "I think we should go, Thalia. The King will just be more angry with us for dallying."

Thalia took my hand in her own. As we walked quickly back to our chambers, Thalia did not speak a word. Only her tight fingers around my own betrayed any of the jealousy and misery she was going through at that moment. I doubted Bacall would care.

* * *

As the King placed the small crown atop Aswen's crop of curly brown hair, I felt pride swelling within me. Cheers filled the room, reaching up to the high-vaulted ceiling of the throne room above our heads – cheers of celebration for my son. Finally, after seven years of preparation, Bacall had finally decided to give our first-born son the title of Crown Prince. He stepped back and looked proudly down at the child, who gazed back up at his father with the same dark eyes as his father, and a nose that was almost as perfectly straight. 

The King helped Aswen to stand, steadying the boy as he swayed dangerously under the sheer weight of the crown on his head. Stand next to me, I heard my other children sniggering at their brother's near accident, though they soon quietened after I gave them my sternest of looks. Thalia hung her head, and four-year-old Roag gave me the broadest smile he could muster.

"My lady?" I looked up as Bacall led Aswen over to us – he still looked as nervous as he had done on being led into the throne room. "May I introduce the Crown Prince of Carsona?"

Thalia and I curtsied low, while Roag pulled a face at his brother and quickly bobbed a bow. Aswen stepped forwards and hugged me, then Roag, then he turned to Thalia. She smiled and gently punched his shoulder, ignoring the stern look on the King's face.

"You do look funny with that crown on, Assie," she said, then giggled as Aswen cringed. "Is it heavy?"

At that moment, the royal tutor appeared behind Bacall, his face more than a little frightened. "Your Majesty? May I have a quick word?" He glanced at Thalia, then muttered. "It's about the little Princess."

My daughter paled instantly at those words, and Bacall spun to face the man, his face suddenly livid. "What has she done?"

The small little man shied back, bowing humbly. "It's...it's about our last magic lesson this morning, My King. Thalia had certain...erm...difficulties controlling her levitation spell. I'm afraid to say that the harpsichord is now..." The man bit his lip. "The harpsichord is even now crushed under one of the bookcases. I'm sorry, Majesty."

Roag snorted with laughter. Aswen looked at me, and Thalia began to back slowly away towards the doors behind us. Bacall whirled round to face her, his face filled with anger. "_Don't _walk away from me, young lady! I want you to go to my office in the south wing right now and await me there, understand? We will discuss this matter _after _I leave the banquette in your brother's honour."

I saw immediately where Bacall was going with his punishment, and I stepped forwards to confront him. Thalia looked like she was about to cry once more, though her lips were pressed together tightly, eyes glaring. "Bacall, do you _really _think the crushing of a harpsichord that no one ever plays is reason enough to allow her to miss the banquette? Will you not allow her just---"

"This matter does not concern you," Bacall told me harshly, then looked at Thalia again. "I believed I dismissed you."

I knew that there was no way Bacall would let me run after me daughter, even though I sorely wanted to. She fled through the entrance, tearing the hairpiece she had been told to wear, out of her hair, trembling with regret. The noblemen and women in the room were already pretending not to be watching the scene before them on the dais, and Aswen looked longingly after his older sister as though even _he _was thinking about racing after her. But Bacall had his hand on the boy's shoulder, holding him back, though his eyes never left my own. They were hard and authoritative, telling me that I had more hope of sprouting wings and flying than being able to make Bacall change his mind and summon Thalia back.

It didn't stop me from speaking my mind. "You can't keep treating her like that, Bacall. Thalia is going to be a woman in a few years time, and you have to stop treating her like some wayward child. She made _one _mistake. Do you really think she enjoys being shouted at by the man she calls 'father'?"

"Eloryn, our daughter is going to be married off to a foreign Prince one day," Bacall replied tiredly, as though I were some idiot that needed everything explained to me. "No land wants to have a wife for their son who would much rather use a sword than produce offspring. Thalia needs to learn that she can't behave like some...like some foolish commoner's daughter who doesn't know any better, and this is the _last _we shall speak of the matter."

I felt his words as a knife against my heart and the memory of Myron. I hadn't dreamed of him since I had become pregnant with Aswen. When the renegade had offered to destroy the child within my womb for me with magic, so I would not have Bacall's son, I could not bring myself to let him. Myron had, of course, been furious, accused me of falling in love with my husband, and reminded me that I had promised my heart to him. When I had tried to tell Myron that I really did love only he, the man had answered that if that truly was the case I would not be so eager to have one of Bacall's worms growing within me. Furious, I'd slapped him hard across the face; the child was still part of me, and _never _could I kill my own flesh and blood!

"_We agreed that I would come back to your rooms," _Myron had snarled at me, his face full of disgust. _"You told me you wanted me to father your next child!"_

"_But you wouldn't answer me when I called you, Myron!_" I'd objected, shaking my head._ "And Bacall got tired of his mistresses. How could I turn away a King?"_

"_You managed to turn me away more than enough times!"_

"_Are you _jealous _Myron?"_

"_Of course I am!" _Myron had snapped. _"Why should that monster of a man get to use my lover as his own plaything, _and _to see my daughter growing up while I hide my face in dreams! I can't _stand _not seeing my daughter! I have a right mind to enter _her _dreams as well!"_

I had been so shocked by his words, I could only gape at Myron in horror. When I'd been able to find my voice once more, it had trembled with rage. _"Myron, you can't seriously be considering that?"_

"_And why not? Scared I'll blow your cover?" _His face suddenly grew hard. _"Or do you just want our daughter all to yourself?"_

"_You'll scare her, Myron! Thalia has awful nightmares about mages and magic; she'd be terrified if she thought you were one as well!"_

Myron had snorted disbelievingly._ "You just don't want me to see my daughter. You're scared she'll find out who I really am, then want to come and find me. Don't lie to me, Eloryn – I can see the truth in your eyes."_

He had been right, of course. Myron could read me like an open book, but the truth still stung me to the core. I'd pulled my head high, glaring at him. And then I'd ruined our relationship forever. _"I'm glad I didn't take you back with me again, Myron: how would Carsona survive with a son of yours on the throne? Greedy, self-obsessed, arrogant and bloody-minded – that's you in a nutshell."_

"_And you are a cold-hearted, back-stabbing bitch!" _Myron snarled, then spat on the floor at my feet. The hurt in his eyes was unbearable, fuelling his renewed rage. _"I pray to every god in existence that Thalia doesn't end up like you: it's a father's worst nightmare to think his little girl would spread her legs to any man within her sight!"_

When I had woken, I'd found myself shaking with anger, unable then to regret anything I'd said or done. I was too proud to call on Myron ever again after that, and he never visited me in our dream. When different, strange dreams began, I knew at once that Myron had severed our connexion for good, and my heart felt like it was breaking. But at least I still had our daughter. I couldn't except the fact that, deep down, I still loved Myron, and I had a family and a duty to preform.

At least Thalia still loved me – as far as I cared now, I kept telling myself firmly, Myron could rot in hell. If only I could believe I wanted what I said! Thalia was very like Myron in the way her anger could flare out of control at the slightest insult, and she could argue with a person until muted. She longed for adventure, excitement, a life outside of Carsona, and yet for all that, she did love Bacall like he was her father. But Bacall did not love her as a daughter - as a pawn for his country, maybe, but it was a love nonetheless. It was a love not even my father had cared to give me. Her half-brother Aswen adored her, and their friendship reminded me strongly of my own admiration for my older brother, Prince Harte. Thalia was a lucky child in many respects, but dreadfully unlucky in others, and I could not give her everything I wished for her: Myron as an ever-present father, me as her mother, to grow up within her parents' stable relationship, and to have full-blood siblings. But those things would never happen.

I curtsied to Bacall, keeping the resentment from my face. "My lord King, I beg of you to be leniant with my daughter. She tries to please you in her learning; what fault of it is hers that she could not control that one spell? You know how hard she practices in order to master her skills, do not knock her achievements to the side! It will hurt her too much."

But Bacall merely gestured towards the main doors, silently ordering Aswen to lead the way out of the throne room. The boy glanced back at me, his regret shining in his eyes, then he did as his father had bid. Bacall offered me his arm; I could not refuse it.

The banquette was long and tidious, and Aswen was soon shifting uncomfortably in his seat, obviously wanting to leave and be allowed to be a little boy once more. There was musicians, actors, preforming animals - I knew Thalia would have loved the great lion that had reared up its hind legs like a horse, and it made me turn my face down to examin the starter on my plate. But as we tucked into the main course, a guardsman entered the room, his face sickly-looking with dread. Something was wrong.

The musicians stopped playing as Bacall rose to his feet to great the man, and the guard dropped to the floor and shuddered. "My King, there has been...a terrible misfortune. We've searched _everywhere_, Sire, but I'm afraid---"

"What has happened?" Bacall demanded quickly, glaring at me to remain seated as I went to stand. My chest felt tight with foreboding. "Speak up, man!"

The young man on the floor hesitated, then lifted his head to look at his King. He looked terrified out of his wits. "Princess Thalia is missing."

* * *

**_FantasyGuurl - _**I'm so glad you enjoyed it! Hope this was OK! 

**_kyra-maRia -_** Keeping the updates coming as quick as I can!! XD

**_Pirate - _**Twisted childhood? Maybe I really should be a little nicer to Thalia. Thank you!

_**martini the brave -**_ Nooo! You're gone!! Hope you enjoyed this anywho!!

_Everyone else, hope you enjoyed too! Llamas, Ginger-Bizkit!_


	14. Rescue

**.:Rescue:.**

It was a week before Thalia was found. Every day I would stand by the window of my room to which my husband had spelled me in to, since he said I was growing hysterical with worry. And maybe I _was _hysterical, but my beloved daughter was missing! Anything could have happened to her; I knew exactly what could result from carelessness at social events, and what if my daughter had been kidnapped like I had been? Thousands upon thousands of "what if"'s ran through my mind, many of which were terrible and left a sickened taste in my mouth and fresh tears in my eyes.

Seven days merged into one another, a confusion of angered or desperate tears, curses both to my own weakness and my husband's ruthlessness, and yet it was the longest week of my life. I sat by the window, looking out across to the church tower – a light would be shone from there if the missing princess was recovered, but the light remained unlit; a sickening symbol of my grief. And still my Thalia did not return to me.

I couldn't imagine my daughter dead. Then, one night, as I slept restlessly in a chair by the window, _I found myself on the dirt track amongst the towering white trees. I felt my throat tighten as I recognised the dream around me, knowing exactly what was happening, and I suddenly felt very, very alone and frightened beyond my wits end. I knew Myron was behind me – I could feel his hot breath against the back of my ear, and then his hands were on my shoulders. The touch, though, was as hard as iron._

"_You are most probably the worst mother I could have chosen for my child," Myron told me cruelly, then he spun me viciously round to face me. His blue eyes seemed to blaze red with anger. "Don't give me that look, Eloryn, Heldrida told me that Bacall has sent scouts out to look for Princess Thalia! Do you know what his enemies will do now that he's announced to the world that she's disappeared? Bacall's spies won't be the only ones seeking a blue-eyed, black-haired little girl, Eloryn, and they would be less lenient to her than Carsona's army!"_

_Nine years of caring the little girl we had made. Seven years since our argument. Just one night to lose the most important person in my life – and Myron was furious with me. As I stared at the dirt at our feet, I heard past the renegade Black Knight's anger at me and heard something entirely different: terror, foreboding, regret, love. He had claimed to love our daughter, pestered me of news of her before we had come to blows, but a foolish part of me had always presumed Myron had been humouring me. Now I saw that all my doubts in him were wrong and that he was like any anxious father whose flesh and blood had vanished without trace. Bacall was searching for Thalia because he _had _to, but he had shown no true concern for her welfare. Myron was. _

"_Gods curse me!" I suddenly cried, then pulled myself out of Myron's hold. I wanted to run and hide, to put as much distant between myself and he as I could; how could I stand him after I had hurt him so much? But Myron seized my arm and held me, refusing to release me. "Let go, Myron!"_

"_Eloryn, calm down! Eloryn, look at me?" I stopped struggling but kept my eyes fixed on the road ahead of me. I heard Myron curse fluently. "We both know that we said things to each other that were...extremely uncalled for, Eloryn. We're both proud, strong people, too stubborn for our own good, but we _have _to put those things to one side now: Thalia is _our _daughter, whether we can see eye-to-eye or nay, and she needs us to cooperate with each other now more than ever before in her life." _

_I wanted to bite my tongue, but the words flashed from my mouth before I could stop them. "Myron, I'm...I've never been so terrified before in my life!"_

"_Me neither, and I've witnessed some horrific things in my time." There was an awkward silence for a moment. "You look...you look like you've been kicked by a horse. Gods be saved, Bacall hasn't even bothered to check how you're faring!"_

_The anger surged within my breast, giving way to a hopelessness that made my voice waver. "Myron, stop trying to make me feel sorry for myself! Yes, Bacall has left me alone, and I'm glad!" Without waiting for Myron to ask, I choked out the events that had led to Thalia's disappearance. Before I'd finished I was in tears, and Myron was holding me tightly in his arms. "I just want my daughter back, Myron! No one knows where she's gone!"_

"_I'll kill the no-good bastard that's done this!" Myron swore viciously, then pulled my face up to look at him. "Do we wipe the slate clean now that this has happened, or is pride going to be our enemy once more?"_

_His answer was a confused mingle of desperation, passion, grief and joy. When we finally broke our kiss, I was cursing almost as angrily as Myron had done. "We can't keep doing this, Myron! It's going to kill us if we continue our fights!"_

"_What sort of couple would we be if we did not enjoy the odd duelling of our poisonous words every once in a while?" Myron asked sadly, then turned his beautiful eyes up towards the sky. "But I do understand what you mean, my love. Now, we must find our daughter. Do you have anything on you that belongs to her? A hair band? A bracelet? Anything that would have been in contact with her."_

_I saw his eyes latch onto the locket that I was suddenly pulling up and over my head. I turned the tiny key within its golden side, letting the latch spring open to reveal a lock of black hair. As I held the hair out for Myron, I saw him nod and smile briefly. "That will suffice." _

_He took the lock clumsily with his fingers, cradling it with the palm of his hands as he began to whisper strange words over and over. The air around Myron began to grow heavy and shimmering, until I had to cast my eyes away from his spell and back away until the air was as light as I had remembered it to be. Myron's eyes were closed with concentration, his brow furrowed, and handsome face alive with determination. When I finally heard him let out a hiss of surprise, I feared the worst and ran to him. _

"_What's wrong? Oh, Mryon, _please _tell me that my daughter is safe! Please!"_

_The spell lifted. Myron remained motionless where he stood, his face full of a pain that made my blood freeze and my heart shrivel within my chest. When I was about to cry once more, preparing to mourn the loss of my baby, I felt Myron's hand cup against my cheek. When I looked at him, his crystal blue eyes danced with pride._

"_She's more beautiful than I've ever dared imagine, Eloryn," Myron told me gently, then pressed his lips to mine. I felt myself begin to melt inwardly as his hands held me to him, but I had to push him away. He smiled slightly as he saw the look on my face. "I feared that she was captured or dead, too, Elroyn, but Thalia is safe for the time being. She has merely wandered into the woods and is lost."_

"_'Merely'!" I cried, horrified. "Myron, there are wolves and bears and...and gods only know what else in those woods! My poor baby must be terrified out of her wits! Myron, you have to take me there!"_

_His arms folded themselves across his chest. "On one condition."_

"_I'm not playing your stupid games, Myron!" I shouted furiously. "Our daughter has never been allowed to venture into those wood, wild beasts care little for the pleadings of an unarmed nine-year-old girl, and now you want me to grant you a demand? Oh, just tell me what it is!"_

_Myron looked unimpressed. "Poisonous words, Eloryn, remember? I was merely going to say that I wanted to go with you. But if you'd rather me leave her there..."_

_I grabbed his hand in my own, glaring at him. "Myron!"_

_The man squeezed my hand gently, _then the light vanished and we were attacked by a cruel onslaught of howling wind. My eyes shut against the darkness of the night around us, feeling unbearably disorientated, but Myron was walking forwards with me, his steps sure and precise. When I finally opened my eyes, I saw Myron glance back at me and jerk his head forwards. "Go to her, Eloryn. She'll recognise you."

It was then, behind the screaming wind, that I heard the frightened sobbing of a child. I released Myron's hand and rushed past him, calling Thalia's name desperately. The gloom around me pressed in for a moment, as though trying to hold me where I was, but then a small figure came hurtling out of the darkness of a hollowed tree trunk in front of me. The impact of the child's hug nearly knocked me off my feet, yet all I could do was fall to my knees and hold my weeping, screaming child as close to myself as I could manage.

"You're safe! Oh, Thalia, you're safe!"

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry, Mother, I didn't want to scare anyone! I just didn't want Father to shout at me, not again!" Behind me, Myron tensed at the name Thalia had just used for Bacall. "I'm so sorry! Mummy, I'm so cold!"

As I gently held Thalia out at arm's length, Myron muttered a spell for light. As the gentle glow lighted Thalia's face, I saw the results of the dirt and the cold. She was also thinner than I remembered, even though she had been gone merely a week, and her lips looked dry and chapped. Before I could insist on taking her back to the palace, Thalia was staring at Myron with unmasked wariness as he knelt down next to us. I met his eye, terror rising in me. _Don't say anything!_

"Princess, it is an honour," Myron said carefully, then nodded. Thalia didn't look like she could think of anything to say, and her tears were still fresh on her cheeks. "If you would let me, Thalia, I would warm you a little. It is not healthy for a child, or even an adult, to face the elements in such fancy garments as which you now wear."

Thalia swallowed nervously, then glanced in my direction. Releasing that she was asking whether or not it was all right for her to speak to Mryon was to me, at that moment in my life, the worst realisation I had ever encountered, and I nodded eagerly. "Thalia, this is...this is an old friend of mine, Myron of Ēnastral. He helped me to find you, my love. You do not need to fear this man; he will not scold you."

"I have tried to keep myself warm with the spells that I learnt," Thalia admitted shamefully, then hung her head. "But I grew too tired."

Myron graced her with his most heart-warming of grins, and I saw in Thalia's eyes that she had taken an instant liking to him. Her father. "That's to be expected: you're young and have not grown fully into your magical capability. You need to pace yourself, Thalia, and trying to keep yourself warm during such cold days and nights is tiring for any man, let alone a child at so delicate an age as yourself. Will you let me help you?"

Thalia moved her head so that Myron could press his fingers up against the life-beat at her neck. I watched his face as he silently gave our daughter back the strength and warmth that she had lost, yet I was not prepared to watch her fall forwards to the ground.

"Myron, what have you done!" I screamed, trying to pull her limp body away from him, but Myron grabbed my shoulders and hushed me. "You've killed her!"

"No, I put her into a healing sleep," corrected he, then sighed. "I also told her not to tell Bacall of me. He knows my name, Eloryn, and he'll know me for a Dark Knight albeit a renegade one." He looked down at the sleeping child, eyes filled with pain. "He doesn't deserve to call my daughter his own, nor you as his wife. Just...just make sure that he is not too hard on her, Eloryn. I would hate it if she were to be distressed."

I looked away. "Bacall is furious with her. She ran away, disobeyed his orders, has half of the army searching for her, and you expect that Bacall will embrace her with open arms when she returns? He isn't like you, Myron. You can be a bastard when the mood takes you, but you would never sink so low as to treat your daughter the same way as you can sometimes treat me."

"Your words hurt me."

"Not as much as Bacall hurts us, Myron." His eyes grew narrow with hate. "Thalia might as well be mud that would be stomped from his boot. Myself...I'm nothing but a pretty little doll that he would use as he pleases and when he pleases." Myron spat on the ground, shaking his head with disgust. "The Dark Knights?"

"Mmmh? Bah, they have given up trying to hunt me down. I have met...met Elan only once over these nine years."

"And?" My hope was lost on a shrug.

"He threatened to castrate me with his bare hands, nearly beheaded me with a sword, but I managed to..." Myron swallowed, hard. The guilt in his eyes made me shuffle closer to him and wrap my arms around his chest. "I killed my own brother, Eloryn! I flung him out over the edge of a cliff with my magic and let him fall! It was the least that he would have done to me and yet...and yet I still feel worse than a murderer. I tried to find his body so that I could at least give him the honourable burial he deserved. Yes, Eloryn, _honourable_," Myron told me sternly, as he saw the disbelieving look in my eyes. "As much as you and everyone else hate him, Eloryn, Elan was still my brother. He cared for me during some of the hardest years of our life. But I couldn't find the body – the river claimed it. I can never forgive myself for that. But what of you? What have the nine years done for you?"

"My father was killed on a hunting expedition after he became separated from the rest of his party," I commented dryly. "A sorcerer pulled him from his horse and ripped his heart from his chest, then threw his body down a mine shaft. By the time the guards found him, they say his face was hideously disfigured and infested with maggots, but there is no question of the body's identity."

"Well, fair is fair," mused Myron, then nodded with relief. "I had heard that Harte was made King in Tirrius, but I never knew that your father had met such a fitting death."

"He will be reunited with my mother and siblings, at least," I murmured, then glanced down at my daughter. "We should get her back to the palace."

Myron followed my gaze, resting his check on the top of my head. "Run away with me, Eloryn! You, myself, Thalia, we could be the family we always wanted to be! Just say 'yes'."

"Bad things happen when I give in to you, Myron," I replied quietly. "Thalia could have meant death for me, and I'm not speaking of labour. Besides, Bacall would not sleep until he found us – he does not like things being taken from him."

Myron's voice was pleading. "I could protect you."

"But we're too noticeable. Besides, if we were caught, Myron, all three of us would die." I stroked his cheek sadly. "You know I want to, Myron. But Thalia...I have to think of her. Bacall is horrible to her, but the palace is all she knows. And she's safe from the horrors which we both know exist out here in the real world."

The man stood, holding his hands down to help me to my feet. He slowly stooped and lifted Thalia into his arms, shying back as I made to take her. "Please. You get to see her and hold her every single day, and I have not seen Thalia since I named her. I would like to be able to hold my daughter in my arms, if only for a short time."

I couldn't refuse. Myron took the lead, carrying Thalia as though she were a sacred icon that would break if not cared for properly, and I followed along behind with a heaviness in my heart. Even as I observed him, I could see the longing in Myron's eyes that betrayed his determination to _never _to allow his child leave him again. The walk took us nearly half the night, and through the gaps in the canopy above us we watched the sky above the trees gradually grow lighter. The stars vanished. The sun began to crawl its way into the sky.

"This is where I stop," Myron said quietly, his voice sounding dry with emotion. He stared down at Thalia, his eyes shinning, unashamed. He let out a heart wrenching groan of misery, hugging Thalia's still-sleeping form close to him one last time, before he kissed her forehead gently and laid her on the ground. I stepped forwards to pick her up, but he held out his hand to stop me. "No, Elle. We must leave her."

"But...but, Myron, we can't just _leave _her---"

"Look over there," Myron instructed bitterly and, hesitantly, I complied. Ahead of us where the forest thinned and disappeared, I saw a huge stretch of land that was unspoiled by farm or town. This land, I realised, was on the other side of the palace grounds, and in the middle of it was an encampment. Men in the distinctive uniform of the Carsona army were milling around, doing brief morning exercises before they continued their search. "They will find her and take her home. I must be nowhere around, for they will presume me to be a kidnapper or worse, and if you are found here... That is beyond the question."

Myron spoke sense. I knelt and kissed my daughter's cheek tenderly, then stood to face Myron. "Will you take me back to the palace, then?"

He took my hand, and suddenly we were in my chambers. I kissed Myron before I could control myself, then smiled at him. "You have restored my daughter, my lover, and my happiness all in the space of one evening, Myron. For that, I am eternally in your debt! There is no possible way I could repay you, Myron, not for saving my – _our _– daughter's life."

His fingers tweaked my nose. "I wouldn't say that, Your Majesty. I myself have several ideas that would satisfy both ourselves and the debt of which you have spoken so generously of, though most of which you would probably deem highly unacceptable."

I couldn't help smile as I pulled Myron closer to me, running my hands up and through his hair. "Myron, you talk far too much."

"I used to think the very same about you," Myron murmured against my ear, then lifted me into his arms. For a moment, he looked like he was about to kiss me again, his eyes overshadowed with lust, then he paused and glanced to the door. "I must control myself, though. As soon as Thalia is found, the messenger that will be sent shall go to your husband, and he will no doubt send some runner to give you the joyous news. I'd recommend a bath," Myron told me, setting me down on the floor besides him. "You're covered in dirt and leaves."

"So are you," I replied, then gently took his arm. "I'm sure a quick wash won't harm anyone."

Myron rolled his eyes and laughed, letting me drag him into the antechamber next to my room that held the tub. He motioned to it, whispering as my hands pulled the buttons of his shirt open, and suddenly steaming water was lapping seductively at the sides of the bath. "This is a terrible idea, Eloryn. I hope it is not being counted as part of the debt you owe me."

I grinned as I helped him unlace the dress that hugged my body. "No, this is merely a treat."

He laughed at that and kissed me deeply, walking slowly back towards the bath with me held tightly in his arms. My daughter was safe, soon to return home; my husband was probably in bed with some maid he had taken a fancy to, as was his way; and I...I smiled at Myron as he stepped into the bath and sank into it, his eyes holding my gaze. Then he grinned and held out his hand, to me, grinning wickedly. I felt like I was eighteen again, excited by the look in Myron's eyes, and I took his hand with a smile.

"This water is going to be freezing by the time you get in," accused Myron mockingly, then lunged forwards, grabbing me abound the waist with his powerful arms with a triumphant laugh that rang within the antechamber. I let out a small scream of surprise and delight, feeling the cold tiles of the floor disappear from under my feet as the renegade lifted me up into the air and pulled me, unresisting, down into the water besides him.

* * *

"If you _dare _defy me in such a humiliating way again, Thalia, you shall be banished from your home to that of my sister's on the border of our lands!" Bacall shouted, making Thalia shrink back in her seat to the point of nearly falling from the chair. "And stop snivelling so! You are a Princess of Carsona, girl, and you should know better!" 

I stood besides my husband, watching the scene with disgust. "My lord, I beg you to let this matter slide just this once. Can you not see Thalia is distressed enough about what she has done? To make her regret her actions any more would be worse than torture."

The King rounded on me like a provoked beast. "You would have me ignore the most terrible and serious thing this girl has ever done? Is that it, my lady? You forget that I am King, Eloryn, and that this action committed by our daughter has shown me up for a fool, and her for a disgrace!"

"She is nine-years-old!" objected I strongly, ignoring the pleading expression on Thalia's face for me to step back from the argument. "She did not mean to get herself lost in the forest, and Aswen and Roag would have faired no better in her place!"

It was a terrible thing to have said. Bacall's eyes seemed to bulge with unspeakable annoyance. "How _dare _you speak of my sons in such a manner! They would have known better than this girl; faced the consequences of their actions like adults!"

"She is a _child_, Bacall!"

"Then she is a liability of a child!" my husband roared back in my face. "She behaves worse than a cottar's no-account bastard! And she must do so because she is influenced by that stable boy that she plays with!"

I tried to grab Bacall's arm, but he jerked out of my grasp. "For the love of all magic, Bacall, your reasoning is insane! Seth is a good boy! When has he ever given you cause for grief?"

"Since Thalia disobeyed my orders!" The King rounded on my daughter, scarcely noticing the horror on Thalia's face at his words. "You, my girl, are from this moment onwards _forbidden _to go anywhere near that stable lad whom you call 'friend'! You will stay within your rooms until such a time as I feel you have truly repented your actions, and then anyone whom you wish to play with will be organised by yours truly! Do I make myself clear?"

Thalia nodded. Her shoulders slumped, her head falling to her chest. "Yes, Majesty. I...I am sorry for what I did."

The King merely snorted disbelievingly. "You will thank me for this one day, Thalia. You are my only daughter, precious to this land. Now, you may leave your mother and I alone." He looked at me. "We have business to discuss."

I smiled slightly as Thalia crossed over to me, bobbing a curtsy to my husband. I would not let her curtsy to me, hugging her quickly and kissing her cheek. "My brave girl."

"You mummy her too much," Bacall accused. "Thalia, leave us!"

Watching my daughter close the door behind her filled my heart with anger. How could Bacall not see the sadness in her eyes? I turned to him, feeling unreasonably enraged by his words and actions. He looked at me, his eyes filled with equal rage. I prepared myself to fight on my daughter's behalf; Bacall may be quick to condemn my daughter's happiness over his blaming of poor Seth, but I was not about to let the matter slide so easily.

* * *

**_Pirate - _**Thanks for the two comments! XD

**_jon - _**It went fine! Got the mine shaft in, in the end!

**_windcriesjimi - _**I like surprises!

**_martini the brave – _**Lol! Fantastic idea! But...

_**fantasyGuurl –** _Hey, thank you for the support!

_Everyone else, hope you enjoyed too! Llamas, Ginger-Bizkit!_


	15. A Welcomed Gift

**.:A Welcomed Gift:.**

We heard Aswen and Roag singing loudly before we'd even reached the chamber's door, and I could not help but pause to listen to their words. I groaned inwardly as I heard Thalia half-shouting, half-laughing, trying to get her brothers to leave the room but to no avail. The King besides me nudged me and rolled his eyes at the boys' pathetically childish rhyme, snorting with laughter.

"_Princess Thalia, Princess Thalia, you're a bloody misery;_

_In the palace there's a banner sayin': you are now sixteen!_

_But don't believe it; don't believe, it is all a pack of lies;_

_If it wasn't for the party, we would think you're thirty-five!_"

"You two are the worst bards I've ever had the misfortune of hearing in my _life_!" Thalia was shouting, as the two young princes moved on to yet another verse. "Go on, get out of my room! Be gone, you evil demons!"

Roag shrieked with laughter as the sound of a pillow thudding over his head reached my ears, and the next thing I knew the song had vanished behind wild screams and snippets of friendly insults, and the gently _thump-thump _of pillows and cushions colliding into stomachs and thighs.

I opened the door onto a furious play fight. The Crown Prince was being chased around the room by his older sister, who in turn was being pursued by little Roag. Thalia, dressed as always in trousers and a loose flannel shirt, dived at Aswen and brought him down, straddling his chest in one swift movement. Immediately forgetting his quarrel with his sister, Roag flung himself to his knees next to Thalia and the pinned Aswen, joining in with his sister's merciless tickling of the Crown Prince, ignoring his choked laughter and screams.

"Ge'off me! Stop...it!" Aswen was wailing, legs kicking helplessly as he tried to clamp his arms firmly to his sides to stop Thalia tickling him under the arms. "Thalia! Stop!"

The severe-looking face of the man at my side grew a little tender as he watched the scene before us, his cool grey eyes dancing with the laughter that boomed from his mouth, making my unruly children freeze in the middle of Aswen's torturing. Thalia let out a wild cry of delight, leaping off her brother and rushing towards our visitor. She barely managed to remember to bow in her excitement and desperation to hug the man before her.

"Uncle Harte! But I thought you weren't going to be here until midwinter next!" Thalia laughed as her uncle swept her up in her arms and, gave her one of his bear hugs that my children often demanded of him. "Mum, I can't believe you didn't tell us!"

I swapped a knowing look with Harte as he lowered Thalia to the ground. "Your Uncle is on his way back from a congress, and timed his journey through Carsona perfectly so that he could be here today."

"Truth be told, 'tis not every year my little knee-nibbler of a niece turns fifteen!"

"Sixteen, Uncle," Thalia said with a broad grin. "How was the talks? Boring? Good? I wish I could go and see them; our ambassador says that the officials sometimes have arguments that break out into fistfights!"

"You make it sound like a brawl in a pub, my dear," mumbled Harte, then winked at Thalia. "I have gifts for you, my lady. Would you like it now, or would you rather pester me into giving you a minute by minute account of the congress?"

Scarcely minutes lately, Harte was presenting my daughter with a parcel wrapped in delicate pink paper. Inside the wrapping – much to Thalia's obvious delight – was a beautiful, leather-bond book, which bore the initials '_H.R.H T of C'. _Thalia hugged the book to her for a moment, grinning like a fool, then kissed Harte on the cheek. "Thank you, Uncle!"

"Why did you get her another _diary_?" Roag asked sullenly from the windowseat, eyeing the book suspiciously. "All she ever does is write in them, then complain that there isn't enough room for her to survive the week."

Ignoring Harte's small chuckle, I gave my youngest son my calmest or stern glares. "There is nothing wrong with keeping a diary, my son; if anything it improves one's handwriting and spelling. Yours, I might add, leaves something to be desired."

The littlest Prince shuffled his feet moodily against the wall, looking down to study the toes of his boots. "Diaries don't beat swords."

"Then I shall have to righten that problem," Harte replied cheerfully, and reached back to produce a long, broad-bladed sword from the hidden depths of the cushions he had obviously hidden it behind when none of us were looking.

Thalia shrieked with joy, excitement and disbelief shinning in her eyes as her uncle held the sword out to her. She glanced at me, laughing suddenly, and I reluctantly nodded. "I would take it, Thalia, unless you would like His Majesty to take the sword back---"

"No _way_!" my daughter screamed, placing the diary gently on the chair behind her before she launched herself into Harte's arms. "Thank you, Uncle! Oh, thank you!"

"Steady, child; I happen to have a blade in my hand, albeit a sheathed one." Harte grinned fondly down at his niece, ruffling her hair fondly. "You grow up too quickly – the same problem I had with you, was it not, dear sister?"

I nodded politely. Thalia took the sword with trembling hands, too stunned to do anything else be gawk at it. It was at that precise moment that Bacall marched into the room; everyone, save for my brother, quickly bowed or curtsied to the King, who had instantly spotted the sword in Thalia's hands.

"What's that?" he asked sharply, his piercing gaze falling onto me.

"A sword."

"Yes, Roag, I can _see _it's a sword. I'm not a fool!"

Thalia bobbed another curtsy. "If it pleases you, Father, Uncle Harte presented it to me for my birthday."

"Oh, did he now?" Bacall turned his gaze from me and regarded Harte with cold, glaring eyes. "And why would you be presenting the realm's only princess – a gem of unspeakable value – with a blade she will most likely skewer herself on?"

The excitement vanished from Thalia's face, resentment and hurt making her shoulders lock and back stiffen. A red blush of anger swept up her neck and onto her cheeks, but the two kings barely seemed to notice. Harte inclined his head briefly. "I just remember how much of a natural my young sister was, when she was not much older than Thalia herself. I thought that the Princess might benefit from its use some day – after all, why school a able pupil in magic and not explore her hand at other weaponry skills?"

Bacall's eyes narrowed. "How thoughtful of you, Harte. That was a very kind gesture, but Thalia won't be---"

"Father, _please_?" Thalia suddenly begged, making the King start. Even I was taken aback, for Thalia rarely spoke out or defied her...father any more. "I swear I shan't ask anything of you ever again! I _swear_! Nothing at all! I'll even" – the girl openly grimaced at this point – "dance with that young duke fellow who you introduced me to yesterday, as he asked."

A muscle in Bacall's temple throbbed. "What? You were thinking of _refusing _his offer?"

"No, of course not!" Thalia gasped, though I could see she was mentally kicking herself for her traitorous tongue. "Darren is a...very sweet young man, but he was very forward yesterday. I was worried what you might think."

I inwardly let out a sigh of relief as Bacall's mood seemed to soften, the muscle in his temple calming. "If I had known, my dear, I would have intervened." He gave the sword another once over, glanced at the composed face that belonged to my observing brother, then sighed angrily. "Fine! Keep the blasted sword, but don't come crying to me when your hands are covered in blisters!"

Thalia gently handed the sword to Harte and hugged Bacall, smiling happily once more. "Thank you, Father!"

Bacall merely nodded grouchily, patting her on the head, before he pulled out of her embrace and stormed out of the room. Harte grunted without humour, giving the sword back to Thalia. "Quick thinking, my girl. Now, if you do not mind, I would go lie down for a few hours; my bones ache from the many days I have spent in the saddle."

I showed Harte out, whispering my gratitude for Thalia's gift in his ear as he left, then turned back to face my three children. Thalia already had the blade out of the scabbard, and she and Aswen were busy scrutinising it fiercely by the strong light of magic, which radiated from the tips of my daughter's fingers.

"Mother, will Father keep to his word?" Thalia asked worriedly, suddenly looking up at me with fear in her eyes. "He _will _let me learn to wield the blade, won't he?"

What could I say. It was hardly like I could lie to my daughter and yet I was as uncertain as she, for Bacall really was very strict with her: the Princess could not step a foot outside without a dozen grim-faced guards at her back, her friends were all smiling, china dolls who were more interested in swooning over the guardsmen than reading books on dragons and demons. Thalia was a prisoner in the palace, for all that to live in the royal home was a privilege many would kill for, and yet to set foot outside the palace without an escort and to be able to ride her horse Crow, untroubled, was something Thalia could only do in daydreams or while she slept. My daughter often told me airily that she had the most strange, lifelike dreams in the world, while we sat at the breakfast table, or while we compared our tapestry work; rarely did Thalia reveal to me the stories that her dreams held. Of course, when Thalia had spoken the words 'lifelike' to me, my face had involuntarily paled.

"What on _earth _do you mean by that?" I'd asked quite angrily, for all I had wanted to make the question seem more out of casual interest.

"Oh, nothing," was the smug reply. But her eyes – her _eyes –_ betrayed the secret that she had sworn never to speak to anyone of.

That night, I had confronted Myron. "Have you been contacting our daughter?"

"No." Myron had smiled almost mockingly at me. "I'm not _allowed _to, remember?"

Yes, I had _his _word on that matter, but how could I be sure? I was never sure with Thalia, for she was too much like Myron to bear thinking about! Her secretive manner, her distant looks, her small smile... And now there were heavy black bags under her eyes, her small yawns hidden beneath serviettes at the table, or her mournful little sighs that made everyone turn and look at her. Bacall's immediate reaction was that Thalia was attention seeking once more; I, however, could come to only one conclusion: first love.

_Thalia, why won't you talk to me? _My child stepped back from her brothers and swung the blade experimentally, laughing at it sighed through the air. "Should you not wait until you are given lessons, my dear?"

The look in Thalia's eyes darkened as she lowered the blade, then she grinned evilly at me. "Harte reminded me that _you _were once quite the little blades-woman, Mother Dearest."

I raised my eyebrow sceptically. "Your uncle _also _thinks that the world is round – would _you _believe him?"

"Oh, I don't believe _that_," Thalia scoffed, then offered me the sword. I felt my hands begin to itch as my eyes studied the beautifully balanced weapon before me. "Go on, Mother! Show us how a _real _lady fights!"

Roag and Aswen leaped up and down where they stood, their looks pleading against my better nature. "Oh, _please _show us how you fight, Mother! Please!"

Finally, I gave in, taking the sword from out of Thalia's grasp. She smiled broadly at me. "All right, children, but I warn you: I may be a bit rusty."

_Not you, my lover_, Myron's voice suddenly teased against my ear, making my hands quiver. I glanced back, but there was nothing behind me or besides me – my children seemed oblivious to his voice. _Never my Eloryn._

_I thought spying was illegal_, I thought, wondering if Myron could hear me. _Or are you happy to taunt me where I can't hit you?_

His laugh felt strange within my mind. _I'll taunt you all I like now, then, my love, then I'll happily let you _try _and hit me the next time I invade your dreams. However, back to why I am here, I merely wish to admire the stunning daughter that I sired._

_You aren't the only man admiring her_, I thought with a small smirk upon my lips. _I believe _our _daughter is in love_.

Myron's voice was sharp. _With whom? _

_Like a daughter would reveal that to her parents! _I hesitated. _One of them is a Duke Darren._

_Ah._

_You know him?_

_His three-year-older nephew – a king – is a secret ally to Queen Heldrida_, Myron answered, then snorted with laughter. _Bacall shan't be pleased. Any other young men I should know about? _

_Why?_

_I'd like to castrate them before they can lay their hands on my daughter. _Myron let out a small sigh. _Come on, Eloryn, your children are fussing something dreadful. _

He was right, of course; Aswen and Road were now down on their knees in desperation. "Fine, you meddling chicks, stand back!"

_Now this I _have _to watch!_ Myron laughed at me, making me scowl.

I swung the blade slowly in an arc. Letting my mind relax, I let my arms take me through the many and various sword exercises that I had learnt – oh – so many years before in Igorance. Distantly, I heard my children applauding and cheering, obviously surprised by their mother's ease with a blade. When I brought my act to a quick close, terrified that Bacall might return at any minute and confiscate the sword if he caught it in my hands, Thalia was staring at me with admiration in her eyes.

"I want to learn to fight just like you!" she breathed, amazed.

I couldn't help myself; I threw back my head and laughed. "Oh, Thalia, I am a good swords woman, I cannot lie, but I am not _that _good."

_Fooled me!_

_Myron!_

Thalia shook her head as I handed her back the blade. "I have not seen anyone better amongst the ladies of court."

"Then you're not looking hard enough."

Her look became dejected all of a sudden, and my heart swelled with concern. "But I'll never be as good as you – all I'm good at is stupid spells."

Myron cursed within my mind. I frowned slightly. "Thalia, I once knew a man – a long time ago – who was blessed with many different skills. He was a fantastic swordsman, a brilliant athlete, and his magic... My dear, you cannot believe how strong his power was. If he could manage to be as remarkable in all three of those as you are with your magic, my dear, what's to say that you too shan't make men bow down at the mere sight of the blade clasped to your belt?"

Thalia beamed at me, her eyes suddenly determined. "I'll do it! Yes, I'll learn to fight, and practise until I'm as good as any of the housecarles!"

_That's my girl_, Myron whispered, then his presence faded from my mind, leaving me feeling very empty indeed.

* * *

**_windcriesjimi - _**I wouldn't put it past him! Thank you for the review! 

**_Pirate - _**I'm sorry! I honestly didn't mean to make you feel bad - I actually thought it was quite cool!

**_Oo.dream.on.girl.oO - _**Thank you for the support! I keep getting writer's block, but I'm trying to write as fast as I can!

**_Jonathan - _**Laughing, eh? I swear you have a twisted mind! But cheers all the same. (Call yourself Jolly!)

_Everyone else, hope you enjoyed too! Llamas, Ginger-Bizkit!_


	16. A Dangerous Old Friend

**.:A Dangerous Old Friend:.**

**.:The Diary of Princess Thalia of Carsona:.**

**.:Aged 16:.**

I've been without a diary for about three weeks now, but Uncle Harte just gave me this knew one! It's a beautiful thing, but not so pretty as the sword he gave me! Yes, a sword! At last, I can go slay demons and confer with wizards, and joust with knights! And maybe father will get a nosebleed, just to complete the happy picture.

When I was little, I always _played_ at writing a journal, because Mama told me it would be an excellent idea to neaten my spidery hand and help my atrocious spelling. But I grew bored of writing an account of every single boring day of my life, so I ended up writing poetry, thoughts or ideas in the pages instead, and maybe the odd drawing done by yours truly!

I am not a child any more, however. I'm sixteen, very nearly a woman in my own right. I don't consider myself a child any more, so I guess I should really think about using this diary Uncle Harte gave me like an adult's diary. But before I do, I think I shall write a curse in it, just in case one of my snotling brothers try to get their thieving hands on it!

_Black is the raven,_

_Black is the rook,_

_Blackest is he that looks in this book!_

Done! Now Assie and Ro will get the green disease or the leper's disease if they so much as _think _about reading my words! And Father thinks I'm immature...

So, what can I say about my birthday? It was fantastic! Uncle Harte come all the way especially, and he gave me this diary and a sword! Of my own! And Mama says she's even convinced Father to let me learn to use it. She got kidnapped by an evil group of magicians called the Dark Knights as a girl – just a little older than I – so she says it is important for me to learn to defend myself in battle. Nothing that exciting ever happens to me, not unless you think running away and going missing for ages counts as that amazing. Father was furious with me, and for punishment he struck me and forbade me speak with my childhood friend, Seth.

Did anything interesting happen to me today? Well, not unless you count the fact I found a letter hidden beneath one of the cushions in my private sitting room! It was from Duke Darren, asking me to meet him in Queen Lasiner's Ballroom. Which, might I add, is hardly used any more because the last king built a ballroom in the extension of the palace, which is about three times the size and even more grand. But Queen Lasiner's Ballroom still has its great curtains hanging, and even _I_ know where the serving girls and guardsmen steal kisses from each other. No doubt, that's what His Grace had in mind, and then who know where I would find myself? Seth once said that his dad had his mum up the pole and up the isle when she was just seventeen; I wonder if that would happen to me? Ergh, but he's like twice my age – albeit handsome! He also asked me to dance with him again, in case I'd forgotten his request for my upcoming birthday ball. Must go now; the serving ladies are fussing something awful because it's almost time for the banquet. At least I get to sit next to Assie!

Yours Faithfully, Thalia.

* * *

**.:Eloryn P.O.V:.**

Duke Darren. Now _there _was a young man who was not afraid of hiding his feelings behind a sombre face, as many of Thalia's suitors did. It was quite obvious that the man, who could easily have been a decade older than the girl herself, was not infatuated with her; I felt an immediate dislike to him. Thankfully, Bacall did not seem to warm to the man in the least.

After the celebrations for Thalia's sixteenth birthday were over and done with, Duke Darren was diplomatically told to keep his distance, and he departed that self same morning without so much as a word of goodbye to Thalia. The Princess herself did not seem in the least bit bothered by his sudden departure, too absorbed with the exciting prospect of finally being allowed to learn how to wield a blade.

Two weeks after the ball, Bacall tired of his mistresses and barged into my room. After he had used me, the King lay back down on the bed and placed an arm around my shoulder. I hoped he did not feel me tense as he drew me closer to him, for Bacall never remained in my room for more than ten minutes after sex. He did not speak, but kept his eyes raised to the ceiling above our heads. I closed my eyes and let myself relax slightly, wondering if, after sixteen years of marriage, I would finally wake up in the morning and find myself looking at the face of my husband.

"I have a new advisor arriving tomorrow morning," Bacall finally told me, though he sounded bored. "Aswen and Roag are going hunting, and I have a meeting with the healers at nine. No doubt they shall want more freedom to publish their damn journals, or grants to hack up our country's dead. I doubt I shall see daylight again – so to speak – till the evening, and therefore I want you and Thalia to meet the man on my behalf."

"You honour us." I didn't know what else to say, and smiled as Bacall looked at me. "Thalia and I shall do as you ask."

"It's a shame I won't be there," Bacall said, absently stroking my neck with his calloused fingers. "But he will have to excuse me." There was something strange about the way he looked at me, as though he were trying to pass a judgement. He took my chin in his hands and turned his face up towards him, staring into my eyes almost desperately. "You would tell me if you knew something was wrong."

His words took me by surprise. I gaped at Bacall, unable to hide my amazement. "I...I...don't know... Bacall, what are you talking about?"

"I think Thalia is...messing around." Bacall released my chin. "Has she said anything to you?"

"No, my lord." He looked at me again. In his eyes, I saw he was fighting with yet more trouble, and my daughter was not at its heart. "Would _you_ tell me if something was wrong?"

I half expected Bacall to strike me. The look in his eyes was suddenly wild and furious, and he sat upright in bed with a strangled sound – something between a grunt and a snarl – escaping his throat. Then, to my surprise, Bacall settled back down and drew me close to him once more, resting his head on top of my head. "Do you wish to know, Eloryn?"

I hesitated, unsure of how to answer. "Do you think I _should_ know?"

My husband cursed bitterly. "One of my mistresses is with child. Three months, and she only decided to tell me today!" Now I knew the reason for his visit and for the rough treatment I had received: he was furious, and maybe even a little frightened.

"But you've dealt with these types of situations before, Bacall," I said, remembering what he had told me when our marriage was consummated.

"I don't want to talk about that, Eloryn. Now, go to sleep."

* * *

"_Then remedy the situation yourself," Myron said to me that evening, leaning against a tree by our road, absolute glee written on his face. "Have another of my children."_

"_That doesn't help, Myron," I growled, then shook my head. "Do you think I should be worried?"_

_The magician shrugged slightly, folding his arms across his chest. "No, I don't. I did warn you about him, Eloryn, but you---"_

"_I don't need a history lesson from you, Myron!" I shouted at him. "I need _advice_!"_

_He scowled at me, looked down to his feet, then snorted with laughter. "The baby isn't going to be an issue because Bacall isn't going to want a scandal on his hands. Thalia, if she really _is _messing around, that could be a problem. Make sure she knows about anti-pregnancy---"_

_I groaned outright, hiding my head in my hands. "No! Gods above, Myron, whoever Thalia is given to will have arranged the marriage for political reasons. They're going to want a virgin bride!"_

"_All the more reason to nag her," Myron replied dryly. "Unless you'd like _me _to have a father-daughter chat with her, only I'll most probably find out the name of the young man and leave Thalia to plan his funeral. The person you've got to look out for is this new adviser Bacall's called in – now that could be dangerous."_

_I'd guessed that much already. As Myron talked, I watched him closely, wanting to remember as much of his words as possible. "He may not be a friend. Does Bacall know much about him? Did he give you a name?" I shook my head. "All the more reason not to anger him. Just watch him, find out as much as you can about him, and I'll speak with you tomorrow night."_

* * *

Thalia was grumbling besides me, obviously sweltering despite the shade of the tent above our heads. It was an unnaturally hot day down at the harbour, and the King's new adviser was even now waiting to be allowed off the great ship that toward before us.

"Mother, this is so _stupid_!" Thalia whispered to me. "What are we supposed to say?"

I patted her arm sympathetically but only to humour the girl. She was missing sword practise for this, and I knew she was probably dying to get back to the palace, she was so attached to the sword. "My dear, all you need say is 'Hello', 'welcome' and 'it's so nice to have you with us'."

"But why?"

"It's called manners, my dear, and stop fussing."

"No, I mean why am _I _here, and not Assie and Ro?"

"Because you are a Princess of Carsona, nearly an adult, and it's about time you started acting like one." Thalia flinched under my quiet scolding, her pale face turning down so that it was hidden behind her black curls. On the ship ahead of us, I saw a dark-robed man begin to stride down the gangplank towards dry land, flanked by several scrawny cabin boys staggering under the weight of heavy trunks. "And if I am not mistaken, your father's..."

"My father's new adviser?" Thalia offered sourly, but I could barely answer her. I stared at the man walking towards us along the jetty, saw the confident strides and dark blue eyes, and thought for one terrifying moment that I was dreaming.

My dream faded into a nightmare.

The man stopped before us and bowed lowly, a great, sweeping movement that offered the two member of the royal family ever inch of respect that was due to them. His voice, when he spoke, was stern and chilling, waking memories that for years I had tried to keep hidden.

"Majesty, Highness, I am honoured that you would meet me."

The magician straightened and looked at me. A glimmer of recognition flashed in his eyes, eyes that were so familiar to me. I looked at my daughter, my throat unbearably dry, and found the same pair of blue eyes staring back at me. _Oh, gods above!_ I thought wildly, as I looked sharply back at the new adviser, who for years I had presumed dead. _No! Gods no, it _can't_ be Elan!_

I had never seen the man's face, but I had heard his voice before, and his features were too similar to Myron's for comfort. Fighting back my nerves, I inclined my head. "We are...glad you are here." It was so hard to say, and every fibre of my body seem to be screaming out in warning. _But he's dead! He has to be dead!_

So busy was I panicking, I scarcely noticed Thalia step forwards and offer her hand to the King's new adviser. "Welcome, sir. I'm afraid the King is in an important meeting that cannot by interrupted, but would you like to dine with us while you wait for him? I'm sure you are fair exhausted after your voyage."

_Thalia, what are you doing?_ I couldn't do anything. I could only stand and watch, helpless, as Elan – the former leader of the Dark Knights, brother of my lover, and uncle to my child – turned his eyes to my daughter. His back stiffened slightly, head rising. Then Elan smiled.

"It would be an honour, Princess."

And when he turned to me once more, Elan gave me my own cruel, if fleeting, smile. It was as if the man had struck me hard across the cheek, and I knew he recognised Thalia, though not as the daughter of a king.

* * *

**Martini the brave - **Yea! Another chapter up! A general note to everyone, though, sorry it took so long, only revision is being a toothless crone. Thanks for support! 

**Pirate - **Thank you for the comment! Hope you enjoyed this one.

**windcriesjimi - **Sorry last comment cofused you! Thanks for reviewing though...though I cann'ah spell :(

_Everyone else, hope you enjoyed too! Llamas, Ginger-Bizkit!_


	17. Author Note

Hi guys!

Erm...yeah...if you've read any of my stuff, thanks soooo much! I can't tell you how happy that makes me!!!! XD For the people who've left reviews asking me toupdate soon, I'd just like to apologise and say that I really DO intend to update at some point but I'm had a bit of a rough time the last few months.

My dad had a heartattack in the summer while we were in the middle of a church service, which was awful 'cos I was the one who found him. He then went on to have a quadruple bypass in December 07, and then I had a LOT of revision to do for my Alevel exams which was hard 'cos I had to help Dad. He's a lot better now, but I've failed most of my exams, methinks. Coursework is building up now too, sadly. And...yeah...I had a bit of an issue a couple of weeks back which completely freaked me out. I've had no time to write and all my story ideas have fled. So yeah, I really am sorry. ...(

I WILL UPDATE.

Love, Ginger-B. 22/02/07


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